


If Only I Could Turn Back Time

by xenadragon_xoxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Time Travel, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 62,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/pseuds/xenadragon_xoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is grieving over the death of his fiancée Ginny when he discovers that Draco has a Time-Turner and enlists his help to save her. But what happens when things go wrong and they go a little too far back? And what happens when Harry begins to question if this mission is really worth it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever published fanfic, first put up in the October of 2012. I'm not 100% happy with it now that I'm looking back on it, but hey! It's what got me started. Hope you like it! ;)

The wind howled mercilessly through the trees, sending shivers down the spine of a small, humble crowd gathered together in silence. It was cold, bitterly cold, icy as a winter night, but it did nothing to ebb or numb the grief coursing through Harry Potter's veins.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to the man whose arm was wrapped tightly around him, his best friend Ron, both providing him with support and hanging on for dear life as they stared solemnly at the closed casket before them. His ginger-haired best friend said nothing, merely nodding and fighting the tears springing to his eyes.

Harry knew he was partly to blame for his fiancée's death, and the guilt racked violently through his already weak frame each time he took a glance at the hearse before him. She had left to get some groceries long before he was awake, and she had left her wand at home. It wasn't really necessary to constantly carry it around now that they lived on Muggle London, but Harry had never allowed her to leave their apartment without it. But now...

 _Why Ginny? Why did you leave it behind?_ If only he had been awake, he would have forced her to take it anyway, or reminded her if she forgot, and she would have been able to save herself.

The funny thing was that it wasn't as if he really _loved_ Ginny in the romantic sense, it was that she had been like a sister to him for years. They had continued to date each other after the war, but over time Harry started to notice that they treated each other more like buddies than people in a committed relationship. It was only after Mrs Weasley had mentioned it a couple of times, and after the newspapers had speculated about a future Potter-Weasley marriage, that Harry decided to propose anyway. Ginny knew him better than anyone else, even Ron and Hermione, and he was comfortable with her. Marrying her would be safe and help him lead the peaceful life he had always dreamed of, make her happy and please both Mrs Weasley _and_ the rest of the wizarding world. Sort of like killing three birds with one stone.

People came up to offer condolences, saying that they understood, but Harry knew they didn't. They didn't know the inner turmoil that was going through his brain, the remorse and the lies building up slowly in his head. These people all believed he had lost the love of his life. He hadn't. He had lost his best friend, and that was a completely different matter.

He didn't shed a single tear. He couldn't. The truth was, ever since he broke down back in 5th year, he hadn't cried again. He had lost too many people and seen too many innocent wizard, witches and Muggles die at the hands of tyrannical Death Eaters and Tom Riddle, and each time, even as he watched his friends disappear one by one around him, he couldn't bring himself to cry. He had become immune to pain, and Ginny's death failed to bring tears into his eyes, but he wanted to cry. He wanted to let go of all his pent up sadness and dissolve in his own teardrops, to find release. But he couldn't.

Eventually, the funeral ended and Harry left alone. His head was spinning and he felt too tired to move. He stumbled aimlessly through the streets, and each place he passed by brought back a painful memory. The bench where he had asked Ginny to move in with him. The French restaurant that Ginny loved so much where they had celebrated their anniversary. He had accidentally broken a plate and felt bad for ruining their night when Ginny kissed him and said she didn't care. The ice cream parlour that they always visited on Sunday afternoons after a morning walk in that park right over there. Suddenly, Harry felt very angry, furious with himself for allowing this to happen, and furious with Ginny for leaving her stupid wand at home. He couldn't take it anymore and kicked angrily at a lamp post, ignoring the sudden stab of pain that ensued.

"In case you were wondering, it takes more than that to bring down a lamp post, Potter."

Harry jumped and spun toward the sound of the voice. His breath caught in his throat. This was the last person he wanted to see right now. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he spat bitterly.

"Can't a guy just great an old acquaintance without an ulterior motive?" Malfoy smirked.

Harry gritted his teeth. That arrogant, cocky smirk was getting on his nerves. "I don't have time for this, Malfoy."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter, I'm not up to anything," he said rather seriously. "I was only saying hello."

Harry forced himself to calm down. It was true, actually. Malfoy hadn't said or done anything wrong. Sighing, he righted himself and looked carefully at his old nemesis properly. He hadn't seen him in years. When the war was over, Malfoy had disappeared from the spotlight and hadn't resurfaced since. Even though Harry caught himself wondering about it a few times, he hadn't really cared. Until now. He could see that Malfoy's formerly skinny frame had filled out pleasantly, and he had grown his platinum blond hair long, currently tying it back in a ponytail. His eyes were still the same silvery blue-grey, and that sneer on his face actually looked less arrogant and more genuine. In fact, if Harry thought about it enough, he was actually rather...attractive. "Sorry. It's been a rough day," Harry said shortly, pushing the thoughts aside. "So what are you doing in Muggle London?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I've been living in the Muggle world for a while now. It's quiet and gives me the peace I need." For a second, Harry thought he caught a brief flash of sadness in the other man's steel grey eyes, but it vanished so quickly he couldn't be sure. "And what about you?" Malfoy went on. "I almost didn't recognize you without those stupid glasses."

Harry smiled slightly, but it was an empty twitch of his lips. "I got contacts," he replied. "I've been living here, too."

"With the Weasellette?" Malfoy asked, sneering slightly. "I heard you got engaged and perhaps should offer my congratulations."

Harry tensed up instantly. "Shut up," he hissed, feeling the blood boil in his body again at the blond's ignorance.

Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"You haven't read the Prophet lately, have you?" Harry snapped. "She's dead, you fucking bastard. I just came from her funeral."

For a second, the blond stood petrified, frozen in shock, before he could move and say something. "I didn't know," he said. Harry was pleased to note that he looked taken aback and a little ashamed, but he was still angry. "I didn't mean to..." Malfoy made a weary hand gesture, at a loss for words.

"Whatever," snapped Harry, and turned to walk away, but before he could, Malfoy reached out and grabbed his arm, causing his to stop in his tracks. He was surprised by the firm, sudden grip, but within a few seconds his senses came back to him and he shoved Malfoy lightly away. Malfoy stumbled backwards, taken by surprise, and fell against the lamp post Harry had taken out his rage on earlier. As the grey-eyed man staggered, a chain fell out from under his turtleneck collar, and Harry gasped when he saw it. It was a little golden circle, with something inside it that was much, much more valuable than expensive metals.

Malfoy hurriedly righted himself and shoved the chain back into his collar. "That was highly unnecessary, Potter," he said coldly, but his expression was slightly flustered.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. "Was that...did you...?" he stammered, trying and failing to form a coherent sentence.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy stated, icily and without emotion, slipping easily back into his uncaring persona. "Good day, Potter." With that, the blond turned around and briskly strode down the street, his hips swaying slightly as he walked, leaving Harry spluttering in shock, still trying to get a grip on himself. Had he seen...what he thought he'd seen? Or had his mind been playing tricks on him?

Because for a second, Harry could have sworn that Malfoy was wearing a Time-Turner.


	2. Reminiscing

Harry had never been more confused in his whole life. His mind was reeling, trying to process what he just saw. He was certain...but could he have been mistaken? Hadn't he destroyed the entire stock of Time-Turners nine years ago, when he was in fifth year, albeit by accident? Surely he had only been hallucinating in his state of consuming depression.

And yet...

Malfoy's sudden departure and hasty demeanour said it all. The grey-eyed man was hiding something. Even after seven years of distance from his old arch-enemy, Harry still knew his antics like the back of his own hand. Malfoy definitely hadn't meant to show him that...well, whatever it was. He had been shocked and ran off in terror at being discovered.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind now – he was sure Malfoy was indeed in possession of a Time-Turner. The question was, how exactly did he get his hands on it? Even though he was an ex-Death Eater, Harry found it hard to believe that Malfoy could have resorted to evil just to get a hold of something like that. It didn't seem like him. Besides, even though there were a few Death Eaters who hadn't been convicted (like Malfoy himself), most of them had retired from their deeds and had been long since forgiven. Well, all except the Malfoy family, of course.

Harry could still remember how it was like after the war. Aurors had their work cut out for them, hunting down Death Eaters who were still at large, and Harry had been recruited to assist. He had loathed it, though. After defeating the greatest dark wizard of all time, he had been tired of fighting and just wanted some peace. He ran away to Muggle London, with no one except Ginny, Ron and Hermione clued in on his exact whereabouts. Ron visited him every week, bringing him copies of the Prophet, and Harry would read each one so that he wasn't completely in the dark about his world.

One day he had unfolded up his paper to see Malfoy's face plastered onto front page, right under the heading. He looked terribly ill, his face gaunt and shadowed, and he barely moved at all in the picture, merely flicking his glance up once and the camera, then back down again with a defeated shrug. Malfoy had been arrested due to his past deeds as a Death Eater. The details of his trial had been written at the bottom of the article, which was brimming with lies, prejudice and hurtful accusations. Something deep inside of Harry twisted into agony at the thought of Malfoy being subjected to such cruelty. He knew that Malfoy had indeed been a Death Eater, but he was innocent. He had never done anything to harm anyone.

Harry's blood had then suddenly began to run hot with determination. He knew what he would have to do. He remembered clearly that day...

_The clock struck two o'clock. Harry glanced up at it somewhat nonchalantly, trying to ebb the nervousness building steadily within his chest. He had been apprehensive about coming back out into the public eye after hiding himself so well for these past few months, but he knew he had no choice – the disadvantage of having an insufferable hero-complex. He knew he was being chicken and that the hearing scheduled for 2 p.m. had probably already started, and he couldn't be sure if he was more nervous about reminding the Wizarding World of his existence or of seeing Malfoy again. Sighing, he pocketed his wand, closed his eyes and spun into the uncomfortable sensation of Apparation._

_He re-appeared inside the Ministry's head office only a few seconds later. Kingsley, the new Minister of Magic, had adjusted his office wards so that Harry could enter at any time, in case of emergency. Harry was intensely grateful for this as it avoided the hassle of flushing oneself down a toilet or getting into a telephone booth that would transport him to the what was arguably the busiest and most crowded floor in the Ministry._

_Kingsley was nowhere to be seen, probably already in the courtroom. Hurriedly, not wanting to be late, Harry rushed out of the room and into the elevator, hurriedly pressing Level Nine, ignoring the collective gasps of the people inside when they saw him. The lift seemed to be going far too sluggishly today, and Harry was very aware of the eyes averted on him and the whispers of the people who were so surprised to see the Boy Who Lived back and at large. He tried to appear oblivious and ignored any attempts for them to talk to him, wishing that the stupid lift would just hurry it up already._

_Finally, a feminine, robotic voice noted blandly, "Level Nine, Department of Mysteries." Harry sprinted out of the elevator before anyone could question him, rounded the corner, ignoring the door leading into the Department of Mysteries, and dashed down the flight of stairs that would lead to Level Ten. Damn the people who designed this place for not allowing lift access into this floor._

_At last, he reached the last door on the right of the floor. Courtroom Ten, the Ministry Trial Chamber. He vaguely remembered the past two times he had been there, once because he was accused of performing underage magic, and the other when he, Ron and Hermione were after the locket in that foul Umbridge's possession. He shuddered involuntarily at the memories and quickly pushed them out of his mind. There would be plenty of time to drown himself in sorrows later._

_Harry pushed open the door, and as he expected, he was late. Luckily for him, everyone's attention had been averted on the man in the cage in the centre of the room, surrounded by spikes pointing straight for him._

" _We are here today to convene the trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy," Kingsley said as Harry stalked, unseen, to a seat in the far back of the courtroom. His element of surprise would be his edge if he wanted to win this for Malfoy. When he managed to seat himself comfortably, Harry glanced back up into the cage for a glimpse of Malfoy, and his jaw dropped in complete shock._

_Malfoy was by no means the Slytherin Prince he had once been, the man with the immaculate dressing and perfect image with not even a hair out of place, and had morphed into someone so unrecognizable. His hair was messy and not the same clear colour it had once been, now matted with dirt and grime. His face was bruised, its pale complexion even whiter and more drained then before, and there were dark purple bags under his eyes. He was dressed in ragged, torn clothes that were probably once some colour other than a yellowing brown, one of the sleeves torn to reveal an ugly tattoo, the Dark Mark that Malfoy was desperately trying to hide, in vain, and probably the highlight of his appearance to most in the room. But the things that struck Harry the most were Malfoy's eyes. They were still the same cold grey, yes, but they were empty, distant and worst of all...hopeless._

" _How do you plead?" Kingsley was saying when Harry came out of his shocked trance._

" _Guilty."_

_Harry stifled a gasp behind his hand. Sure Malfoy hadn't given up that arrogant, fighting spirit quite yet? This was far worse than he had imagine._

" _Very well," Kingsley said. There was a hint of a sigh in his voice that Harry almost missed. "If that is the case, and there are no witnesses in your defence, then..."_

_It was now or never. Harry felt his knees shake uncontrollably as he got to his feet, praying they wouldn't give out underneath him. "Wait, Minister!" he called. Hundreds of pairs of gazes turned to rest on him, and there was an outbreak of muttering as Harry stepped out of the shadows._

" _Mr. Potter," Kingsley noted respectfully, a small smile twitching wearily at his lips._

" _I would like to speak in Mr. Malfoy's defence," Harry spoke, hoping that the crowd present wasn't aware of the shudder of his voice that was threatening to break at any moment._

_The muttering grew louder as Malfoy's jaw dropped in shock. Harry tried to give him what he hoped came across as a supportive, encouraging smile, but might have failed completely due to his current anxious state of nervous wreckage._

" _Order," Kingsley said calmly, and the court fell silent. "Very well, Mr. Potter. What evidence have you to offer?"_

" _I have nothing but my own testimony and memories," Harry replied, and launched into the account of everything he could remember that might help to clear Malfoy's name, from his refusal to kill Dumbledore, to his reluctance to identify Harry when he had been caught and brought to Malfoy Manor. Harry was pleased to see that his influence as the saviour of the Wizarding World had not worn off. He noted that he had swayed at least a quarter of the crowd, who were now nodding and casting Malfoy slightly approving glances. But that wasn't enough. He needed something more._

" _It is said that the wand chooses the wizard," Harry said, and everyone looked up at him in surprise at the abrupt change of subject. "And they share an...affinity with the wizard, or witch, who it chooses. I believe that a wand reflects the heart of its original master, which is why said wand would choose that person as its master." He took a deep breath. He knew he was treading on deep, dangerous waters, but this was the only way to get more in favour of Malfoy. "I did not use my own wand to kill Tom Riddle," Harry stated._

_At his words, the entire court went still and silent. No one was muttering any longer. All eyes were focused on Harry. No one had ever referred to Voldemort by that name. Nervous, but satisfied, that he had their undivided attention, he went on, "When I was taken to Malfoy Manor, I disarmed Mr. Malfoy in the fight that ensued. " He gulped when a few people glanced at each other, but soldiered on. "As we all know, when one wizard disarms another and takes that wand, the former becomes the master of that wand. My wand had been broken and I had no choice but to use Mr. Malfoy's...even in the war." Finally, Harry decided it was best he just got to the point. "I killed Tom Riddle with Mr. Malfoy's wand. In fact, I have it right here." Harry reached into one of his cloak pockets and pulled out Malfoy's black hawthorn wand, holding the ten-inch object firmly between his fingers and showing it to the crowd._

_The court was greatly moved at that point. Everyone was muttering again, but it was clear they were now looking at Malfoy with a new light. Harry felt his confidence mounting._

" _Now, if Mr. Malfoy was not pure enough of heart, if he did not genuinely long for the death of Voldemort as much as I did, then why would I have been able to defeat Tom Riddle with nothing more than a Disarming spell?" Harry demanded, now beginning to pace before the courtroom. "If Mr. Malfoy was really as evil as you perceive him, wouldn't the wand have refused to kill the master of its master?" Harry elaborated on this, explaining how Malfoy had disarmed Dumbledore, making him the master of the Elder Wand, and how Harry's disarming Malfoy had made the Elder Wand in Voldemort's possession shift in his favour. Slowly gaining confidence and people on his side, he testified until he could speak no more, and collapsed back into his seat. He was emotionally drained now, having come down from a high. He stole a glance at Malfoy, whose mouth was still hanging open, but his expression quickly altered to a neutral indifference when his grey eyes met Harry's green ones._

" _The court will consider Mr. Potter's statement in deliberation," Kingsley said briefly, then turned to the crowd. "Let us cast our vote. Those in favour of conviction?" he asked._

_Harry glanced around. A third of the courtroom had raised their hands, shaking their heads and glaring at Harry as if they had just seen him for the first time and had realized that he was just as rotten as they come. He felt his stomach twitch uncomfortably, worried that even his good word could not overcome the misconceived perceptions of a Death Eater._

" _Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" Kingsley questioned next._

_Harry's heart sank when he realized that no one was raising their hands. That couldn't be right. Had their minds changed, again?_

_Then, one man in the second row slowly, tentatively raised his hand. Kingsley raised his shortly after, glancing around appraisingly. Slowly, one by one, hands came up all around Malfoy. There were a lot of them, definitely much more than those who wanted Malfoy sentenced. His heart sung with joy, but he could not understand why. He glanced at Malfoy, whose steel eyes were wet with tears, no longer empty but full of hope. Malfoy turned to him, and mouthed, "Thank you."_

_Malfoy was taken away from the courtroom, free to go. Harry tried to find him, but couldn't. That was the last time he had ever seen Malfoy._

Harry started out of his reminiscing, jerking out of his thoughts. He hadn't thought about that day, Malfoy's trial, in ages, but it was pretty crystal clear to him that Malfoy would never go back into the Dark Arts. He hadn't even wanted to be a part of all that in the first place. But still, Malfoy's possession of a Time-Turner would mean badly for him if he was caught with it.

That's when Harry had an idea. He turned around and walked back home, pondering his next move. He would have to hunt Malfoy down, no matter what it took.

* * *

Draco's side ached from running. As soon as he had rounded the corner and Potter was out of sight, he had broken into a sprint, desperate to get away. How could he have been so careless? How could he have let Potter see the last Time-Turner in existence?

Right after all his charges were dropped, Draco had gone back to Malfoy Manor to look after his mother, whose charges had also been dismissed. Narcissa was only a shadow of her former self, too weak to function without her husband. Lucius had died in Azkaban a month before Draco had been arrested, but Draco didn't feel the loss. He didn't care. Sure, he loved his father, but he had never been the kind of man a boy could turn to with his troubles and heartache.

One day while rummaging through the various Dark objects left behind by the Death Eaters to see what to turn in and what was harmless enough to chuck out, he had discovered the Time-Turner wrapped carefully in an elegant green scarf that reminded him distinctly of...well...of Potter's eyes, but that was a completely different matter. Anyway, since then, he had kept the Time-Turner to himself. Even though he had only used it once or twice to keep up with his many appointments in Muggle London, he always kept it with him, along with the green scarf it had been concealed in. It served as more than just a useful tool to him. It was a memory of things past, a reminder to him of all the lessons learned the hard way.

But now, that bloody Potter had seen it. Although Draco couldn't be sure if Potter really had the chance to glance at it properly, he was pretty sure that Potter knew exactly what it was. If the public found out...he would be in so much trouble.

Draco knew he should have just ignored Potter when he saw him on the street, but he had always been drawn to the Chosen One. There was something about the raven-haired boy, with those eyes as green as emeralds and that untainted innocence in his eyes despite all he had been through. Maybe it was in the way Potter smiled so insecurely, or the way he could never quite hide it when he was nervous, but Draco was intrigued by the Golden Boy. Hopelessly infatuated, more like it.

He thought that maybe, after the war was over, he would never see Potter again and his feelings towards that stupid saviour would have changed. But they hadn't, and Draco had fallen for him all over again when Potter defended him at his hearing. The green-eyed scarhead had been so obviously frightened, but he had spoken up for Draco just when he thought that all had been lost. The way Potter carried himself with confidence despite his clear fears had made Draco feel so warm inside. Of course, he knew Potter was only trying to be a hero again, just wanting to do the right thing, but it felt good to know he was saving Draco and not anyone else.

When Draco saw Potter walking out on the street and kicking that darned lamp post, he had felt all his feelings for the boy flooding back like salty waves honing in on the shore. He hadn't realized how much he still felt for the man. It wasn't healthy, really.

Sighing, Draco sunk down onto the front steps of his home. His mother had insisted that she would be fine on her own and practically shoved Draco out of the Manor one day. She expected him to visit often, but was trying to prove to herself and to Draco that she was strong enough to stand on her own. Draco admired that about her, because sometimes it sure felt like he was barely surviving each day.

Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, Draco got up and stalked up to his front door. He would worry about his mother and Potter another day. Right now, he just wanted to be alone.


	3. Confrontation

The next week crept by painfully, far too slowly for Harry's liking. Beautiful auburn and mahogany leaves slowly began to drop from the trees, tangling themselves in crinkly mats wherever one walked, but Harry didn't notice the splendour of the season's turn. He was hurt, tired and busier than ever.

He had immersed himself in tracking down Malfoy, but it seemed as though he used a different name and it wasn't as easy as he expected. Harry couldn't deny that Malfoy was a skilled wizard, and he had probably been able to put up wards around his home, making it impossible to discover. Still, even though he was desperate to meet the blond again, Harry found he rather appreciated this – it was a challenge, and it took his mind off of Ginny.

Harry glanced once around his apartment. It wasn't particularly large, and it wasn't the first time he was there by himself for longer than a few days, but he felt so empty and alone as his eyes roamed the too-quiet living room. Something was missing, a beautiful girl with big brown eyes and long locks of red hair flowing down her back in tantalizing waves, someone who would have given Harry her famous hard, blazing look if she knew what he was obsessing over now. Harry chuckled slightly at the thought. God, how he missed her.

But today would be different, he promised himself. He had finally managed to get a hold of Malfoy's address, and after paying him this visit, everything would change. He felt suddenly anxious as he stood up and made for the door, and it felt like déjà vu. The idea of meeting Malfoy always made him feel nervous for some strange reason. He figured it was probably the fact that Malfoy had been his rival for years.

Harry paced out the door, locking it securely behind him, then took off down the stairs. He hit the ground at a brisk pace, striding in what he hoped was a confident gait as he made his way towards Malfoy's. The streets weren't particularly busy, but there were a few people scattered here and there. There were very wizards in Muggle London, but Harry checked around a few times, emerald eyes darting from side to side. Being recognized would really ruin his plans for the day.

Eventually, after a half-hour walk, Harry arrived at his destination. He double checked the address with a piece of scrunched up paper in his hand, brow furrowed as he scrutinized the humble home before him. The paint was peeling from the door and the knocker was all rusted. There were a few plants growing outside a window, but they looked like they hadn't been tended for weeks and there were quite a few wilted flowers scattered around. It didn't seem like a house Malfoy would want to be associated with. Then again, hadn't all of them changed after the war?

Once he was sure he had arrived at the right place, Harry walked up the first few steps. Mustering whatever courage he had left in him, he lifted his right hand, grasped the brass knocker tightly in his fist, and rapped it against the door three times.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence, and Harry thought he'd either gotten the wrong house or Malfoy was out. Hoping it was the former, Harry backed up, frowning. A light was on in the place that should be the kitchen, so surely there was someone home.

Then he heard it. Footsteps. Slow, soft and careful, they approached the door. Harry took a deep breath as the door swung forth and revealed a blond with cool silver eyes.

"Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed, his jaw dropping in shock for a second (again, the déjà vu) before he righted himself quickly and fell back behind an uncaring mask.

"Malfoy," Harry said, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy hissed, sounding far more hostile than he probably meant to.

"I need to talk to you," Harry replied in what he hoped was a calm way. Malfoy stood there, mouth slightly agape, staring at him. Harry felt himself getting slightly annoyed. He had expected Malfoy to either slam the door in his face or throw him out and hex him, not stand there rendered speechless. "Well, are you going to invite me in?" the raven-haired boy asked, again trying to maintain a cool facade.

Malfoy seemed to consider him for a second before heaving a dejected sigh and stepping back to allow Harry to enter his home. Again, Harry was surprised by the interior design of the house. There were plenty of soft colours, nothing too loud, and it was almost too neat. But Harry could also see an abundance of green furniture and couldn't help but smile. Of course, there was no way Malfoy would give up his Slytherin legacy. His house colours would be his main scheme. Harry took comfort in the fact that some things really never changed.

"Well, what is it?" Malfoy snapped.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy looked panicky and flustered, as if trying desperately to hide something. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink first?" Harry asked, surprised by his own daring. Maybe being around Malfoy brought out his inner Slytherin. When the blond didn't move, instead staring at him incredulously, Harry chuckled. "Where's your hospitality, Malfoy?"

Malfoy glared at him. "As insufferable as ever, aren't you, Potter?" he said. "Don't make me treat you like a guest, because you're not welcome here."

Harry flinched inwardly at Malfoy's words. He had forgotten how heartless Malfoy could be. His bravery was melting away, replaced instead by a lingering insecurity and incredible awkwardness.

They stood in silence for several moments before Malfoy sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, habit," he apologized, and Harry started at the sincerity in those words. "Would you like some tea? It's all I've got right now."

"Tea would be great," Harry replied, and Malfoy disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Harry standing in the living room. It really was simply furnished, with a grey sofa that had green pillows on it, a relatively small TV, a stand with a black guitar on it and a coffee table with a green placemat. He eyed the guitar curiously. Malfoy didn't seem to him as the type to take up music, but then again, he hardly knew the man personally.

Malfoy reappeared a minute later and beckoned Harry to a small wooden table, again with a green placemat, and two chairs on either side. Harry guessed that was his idea of a dining room.

"Thanks," Harry said as he accepted a mug from Malfoy. The cup was green, too, and Harry couldn't help but wonder about the extent of Malfoy's house loyalty. "You play?" he asked, gesturing towards the instrument.

Malfoy nodded, but didn't say anything else, leaving his mug untouched on the table.

Harry sighed. "Let me cut to the chase," he said. "I know what you own, Malfoy."

The blond's blank expression didn't change, but a flush rose to his cheeks, giving it away. "I don't know what you're talking about, Potter," he replied quietly.

"Yes, you do," Harry contradicted firmly. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Malfoy, and we are both aware of that."

Pale fists clenched before Harry's eyes as Malfoy drew a calming breath and shuddered noticeably before speaking. "And?"

Harry felt a rush of triumph. So the Slytherin prince still hadn't admitted to owning it, but he hadn't denied it either, and this was a good sign. "We both know what would happen if I told someone about it," Harry stated slowly, testing Malfoy's reaction, but the blond remained perfectly calm, merely nodding and waving a hand for Harry to continue. The brunet went on carefully, "I need a favour of you, Malfoy."

At this, Malfoy looked up from where he had been staring into the depths of his mug. He opened his mouth, then closed it and motioned for his guest to go on.

"I want you to take me back in time, Malfoy," Harry informed him, causing Malfoy's grey eyes to snap up and meet his. "I need you to take me back to last Wednesday at 10 a.m."

Malfoy watched him carefully, his gaze scrutinizing. "And what happened then?" he asked.

Harry noted that despite his old rival's discomfort with their conversation, he had not refused yet. "Ginny," he replied singularly.

The blond's eyes went wide at his statement before he frowned and continued to turn his attention to his tea cup. "You want to save her," he inferred quietly.

"Yes," Harry said.

There was a long, dragging silence between them as Malfoy finally raised his mug to his lips and took a long drag. As he threw his head back to drink, Harry noted the chain clasped around his neck. Malfoy put down his cup and broke the silence, refusing to meet Harry's eye and studying his long, pale fingers instead. "How did it happen?" he asked, a touch of sympathy in his voice.

"She forgot her wand at home," Harry said softly, trying not to reveal too much emotion. He didn't want Malfoy's pity. "She took a taxi to get some groceries. She was on a bridge when another taxi rammed into hers from behind. Her cab fell off." He took a long swig of his tea to cover up the sadness in his eyes. "I need to rescue her."

Malfoy's brow was furrowed. He was thinking, hard. "You do realize, Potter, that if, hypothetically, I agree to help you, you must not be seen by yourself, nor must you be noticed in any place where your past self may be."

"Hypothetically? Yes," Harry replied, trying to keep a smile from crawling onto his lips. He knew he was getting through to his ex-nemesis. "My plan is to save her at the scene, at that bridge. My past self was happily asleep in bed then, so I'll be free to show myself to her."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair slightly. "You've thought this through."

Harry shrugged, disregarding the comment. "So, will you do it?"

The blond closed his eyes. "Am I being blackmailed, or are you genuinely asking for my assistance?"

"I need your help, Malfoy. Plain and simple. I just thought it would spur you on if you knew that I could inform the Ministry of what you currently possess any time I like."

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "So, blackmail."

"You should know me better than that by now, Malfoy. It's none of my business if you own a Time-Turner. I only require a favour. It's fully up to you whether or not you help me, and I won't turn you in if you don't."

There was another sigh and a screeching of a chair as Malfoy stood up to refill their tea. "You feel responsible for her death," he murmured, very softly so Harry had to strain to hear him. It wasn't a question, he noticed, it was a statement. Harry said nothing, so Malfoy went on, "You aren't to blame for what happened, Potter. Surely the great Saint Potter would know that." His voice was good-natured, even as he mildly insulted Harry, who couldn't help but smile.

"When did you become a Psychologist, Malfoy?" the green-eyed man grinned.

Malfoy stared at him for a second before tentatively smirking back. Strangely, his act of giving Harry a half-smile made Harry feel ten times lighter. "Been there, done that, Potter."

They shared a slightly less hostile silence as they sipped their tea before Harry asked again, "So, will you help me?"

The look on Malfoy's face turned serious, and his eyes darkened with something like indecision. "I don't know. It would be wrong."

"Haven't you used the Time-Turner before?" Harry questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Only twice to meet business appointments and also attend to family matters at the same time," the blond replied. "Not to alter the past."

"It's up to you, Malfoy."

"I know."

Another length of quiet stretched out between them, this one so filled with tension that Harry felt his skin start to prickle in anticipation.

Again, Malfoy was the first to break the silence. "I will consider this, Potter, but until then, I suggest you return home. This is not a decision I can make overnight."

Harry nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Malfoy." He took out a piece of paper and his wand, then waved it. Writing slowly etched itself onto the parchment. "This is my address. When you make your decision, you'll know where to find me." The blond nodded singularly as he took the paper from him, and Harry got up, then turned and made for the front door. His heart pounded furiously in his chest as he rested his hand on the doorknob, thinking about everything he had just asked for, and wondering why seeing Malfoy finally smile back at him had made him feel so pleased. Puzzled, he contemplated it for only a second more before swinging open the door and disappearing down the street.

* * *

Draco heard the front door click shut and instantly buried his face in his hands. He was such a mess at the moment. His chest felt like it would explode from the accelerated beating of his heart. When he had seen Potter standing at his door, it had taken all his effort to act casually surprised and not fall to his knees from weakness right there and then. And when Potter smiled at him...

He shook the thoughts out of his head. He knew it was wrong to use a Time-Turner to alter past events. He knew that he should have refused right out, or should be making arrangements to let Potter down as gently as possible when he met him later on. But of course, Draco knew it wasn't going to go down like that. Potter had always been his greatest weakness. He knew he would never be able to say no to the man, even if it pained him or caused him great trouble.

Slowly, Draco pulled the Time-Turner from under his shirt, where it hung from a light gold chain. He stared at it carefully, studying the shining surface and the clear hourglass, running his thumb over the inscription etched onto it, the words that he knew by heart: _I mark the hours, every one, nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, are gauged by what you have to do._

Draco hung his head between his knees, defeated. This was so wrong. The raven-haired boy and his damned green eyes had messed him up. But he would help Potter, and not because he didn't want to refuse. He really wanted to say no, to push the man out of his life forever. But he just couldn't. Never in his life had Draco felt so helpless and weak.

He rested his head on his folded arms. He was so emotionally weary from his encounter with Potter that all he wanted to do now was sleep his heart-wrenching feelings away.

 _Fuck you, Potter,_ he thought to himself before closing his eyes and drifting off.


	4. Disembarking

It had been couple of days since Harry visited Malfoy. He was getting increasingly antsy about it. How could he have been so impulsive, running off to his old enemy? Had he honestly believed that Malfoy would help him out? What the hell had he been thinking?

Groaning, Harry downed the rest of his beer. Thankfully, he had a high tolerance from alcohol and it took several bottles for him to get tipsy, but it also meant that he couldn't drown his sorrows in spirits. And sitting all alone in a bar at 3 o'clock in the evening wasn't the best way to spend his days either. It was all too quiet aside from the occasional bum or drunkard.

"You alright there, Harry?" the bartender asked him. Harry looked up, smiled once and nodded. This bar had become a frequent haunt of his, and the bartender knew him better than anyone else in the town. He hadn't had the chance to make any new friends, what with Ginny and him running their own gift shop a few blocks away. Harry had closed the place up with a notice that he was on holiday for a fortnight and would be back in a bit, but the truth was that Harry wasn't sure if he could continue operating the place without Ginny. It felt so wrong to do it alone.

"Not having girl troubles, are ya?" the barkeeper asked again.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that. Old demons coming back to haunt me." He stood up and paid for his drink. "Thanks, Ed."

"No problem."

Harry turned around and swung open the front door. The sun hit his face harshly, basking it with a warm, creamy glow as he squinted against the rays. He could already feel beads of perspiration beginning to drip down his forehead as he paced briskly back to his apartment. Maybe he'd be able to survive this, just maybe. If he could forget all about it, move to another city where no one knew his face or name, then just maybe he could get out of all of...

He stopped short when he saw a familiar figure sitting on a large rock outside his apartment's entrance. All thoughts of disappearing left his mind when he recognized the well-built frame and long white-gold hair. His heart leapt. Perhaps he hadn't been so stupid to ask for his help after all. Maybe Malfoy _was_ going to offer assistance. Even if there was a catch, he would be so grateful...anything to save Ginny.

"Malfoy," he said quietly, by means of greeting, telling himself not to get his hopes up too high.

The other boy did not look up, his eyes fixed on a spot on the concrete. "Potter," he replied.

Silence.

Harry gulped in an amount of air before he trusted himself to speak again. "I trust you've made a decision?"

Malfoy nodded, still staring at the ground. "Yes."

"And?"

The blond finally glanced up to meet Harry's inquiring gaze. "I'll do it."

Harry felt a funny jolt in his stomach at the sight of the other man's clear grey eyes, but he pointedly ignored it, disguising it with an embarrassingly large smile of joy and disbelief. "You will?"

Malfoy sneered. "Doesn't look like I have much of a choice now, eh, Potter?" He stood up and dusted himself off. "Well, are you ready to go?"

The brunet stopped in his tracks and turned to stare incredulously at his helper. "What, now?"

There was another smirk from the blond as he said, "What, did you think you'd need to pack an overnight bag? For Merlin's sake, we're going back in time, not on a bloody vacation."

"But we don't know how it's going to take!" Harry protested. "You can't be seriously suggesting..."

Malfoy sighed, letting out a long-suffering huff as he leaned back casually against a wall, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I am not suggesting, I am insisting." He shook his head at Harry's apparent stupidity. "Besides, all we're doing is saving her carriage from falling over the edge...how long do you think _that'll_ take?"

Harry frowned, biting his lip. "Well, not long, but..."

The blond cut him off. "Exactly." He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Now, if you want to do this, we are doing this by my terms. We go now, come back, and forget about it."

"How can I ever repay..." Harry started to speak again, but was interrupted once more.

"Neither of us will have any recollection of our actions when we return to the future," Malfoy snapped impatiently.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Potter," Malfoy spat, pronouncing the name so familiar to his lips with venom, "It's obvious to even a Hufflepuff that if we save the Weasellette, you won't have to ask me for this favour in the future."

Harry felt his brow furrow with confusion. "That's not the law of Time-Travel, Malfoy." He remembered distinctly back in third year, when he and Hermione had painstakingly rescued Buckbeak and his godfather Sirius, that he had every memory of his every action when he returned to the future.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" Malfoy snarled, getting increasingly annoyed. "Now, are you coming or not?"

Harry sighed. "Alright, alright. I'll bite. Just give me a second to grab a more decent shirt or something." He gestured lamely at his plain grey t-shirt which was frequently used as a pajama top. It felt uncomfortable to be going on some sort of mission wearing such unprofessional clothing. Grey had become his favourite colour recently, most likely a reflection of his dull, depressing life without Ginny. As cliché as it seemed, his existence without her so far had been colourless and empty, much like the drab, monochrome tone of his attire.

Malfoy's expression turned stony. "Potter, we are not trying to pick up life partners here. No one is going to give a fuck about your shirt," he said, exasperated as he rolled his eyes.

Harry shrugged, indicating his defeat. "Whatever. You make the rules." He opened the front door, which swung forth with a quiet screech. "Are you coming up or not?"

"I don't want to see your house, Potter," Malfoy sneered.

"Well, we can't possibly jump back in time in the middle of the street, can we? In case you've forgotten, this is Muggle London."

Malfoy snorted slightly, but didn't argue, which Harry took as an invitation to lead the way into the apartment. He didn't even turn to see if Malfoy was actually following him as he strode, a slight anger in his pace, towards the stairs.

* * *

Draco glared after Potter, who had just swung the door to his apartment building shut in his face. He couldn't believe he was doing this. This couldn't be real. He tried to get himself to breathe. He was only being invited into Potter's home for practical reasons…nothing was going to happen. Absolutely nothing at all.

Wait, this was his opportunity to escape! Potter wouldn't even notice if he turned and ran away right now, right? And it was the right thing to do, because messing with the past would be more likely to get him into trouble with the Ministry than owning a little Time-Turner. This was his last chance to do what was best for his criminal record and his future. He should just walk away right now.

 _Oh, come on, Dray, who are you kidding?_ Draco chided himself. He knew he would never desert Potter just like that, no matter how much he wanted to. Sighing, he walked up the three steps leading up to the main door and went inside to search for the green-eyed boy.

He found Potter leaning casually against the railing of a long, winding, broken-down wooden staircase and cursed to himself silently. How was it that the stupid Chosen One could look so good doing nothing?

"What's taking you so long?" Potter snapped, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

Draco ignored his irritated inquiry, and asked instead, "Can't we use the lifts?"

The brunet shook his head. "They're out of order. Why, too much of a workout for you?"

Glaring openly at his old arch-enemy, Draco shook his head and followed silently behind the Golden Boy as they climbed the squeaking stares. It took a lot of effort for the blond not to catch himself staring at the other man's arse, which looked perfect in his tight black jeans. He cussed himself again. This wouldn't do – he simply couldn't be staring at the other man's bottom all day, it would seriously compromise their little mission.

Potter led Draco along the hallway of the fifth floor and up to the fifth room, and the latter watched as his temporary host fumbled messily with a ring of keys in his hand. It was impossible for Draco not to allow the slightest twitch of his lips at the amusing sight, and thankfully Potter remained oblivious to Draco's discreet smile as he finally got the door unlocked and motioned to his guest in an 'after-you' sort of manner.

Draco stepped carefully into the humble home and tried not to look too awkward as his pale grey eyes roamed the room, drinking in its every detail. He noticed several non-moving photo frames on the small brick mantelpiece, lots of cosy-looking furniture in warm browns and cool earth tones, and a four-person square glass table.

"Sorry, it's a bit messy," Potter was apologizing as Draco stared curiously at the books littering the dining table. "I've not been much of a housekeeper since…" He trailed off distractedly.

"Understandable," Draco replied, trying to sound cold, even though he really did sympathize with the man. "It's…homey," he added, in an effort to be civil, hoping he wasn't giving too much away from his demeanour alone.

Potter laughed at his uncomfortable observation, causing Draco's heartbeat to accelerate and his spine to tingle. "Ginny did all the decorating," the green-eyed man informed his guest. "I'm crap at interior designing."

"Yes," Draco replied, barely listening as he focused on keeping his breathing rate at a reasonable speed. "Well, shall we?" he asked, once he had successfully pulled himself down from a state of hyperventilation.

The saviour of the Wizarding World merely smiled in return, sending a fresh shot of shivers down Draco's back and speeding up his pulse, which he had tried so hard to calm down, back to a dangerous pace. "Wouldn't you like to have a drink first, though?" Potter asked, completely ignorant of Draco's poor cardiac state. "For old time's sake."

Draco couldn't hold in a snort at the dark-haired boy's words. Old time's sake…what on earth was there to drink to based on that? "If you don't mind, Potter, I'd like to get this over with as quickly as is humanly possible."

Potter shrugged, appearing indifferent, but Draco could've sworn he'd seen the other man's face fall just a little bit. However, Draco didn't have much time to think about it as Potter stepped right up to him and stood there, leaving barely any space between their bodies.

Draco fought to bring oxygen back into his brain, but even his extra-heavy breathing wasn't helping the light-headedness. Potter was eying him strangely, as if questioning his sanity. "You alright, Malfoy?" the former saviour asked, but Draco didn't catch any real concern there.

"Fine," Draco snapped, gritting his teeth to keep his mind from whirling and floating to some of his fantasies. "Personal space, Potter, if you don't mind."

"I've used a Time-Turner before, Malfoy," Potter responded solemnly, in an all-knowing tone that made Draco suddenly feel like punching him. "If we're not close enough we might get separated."

Draco didn't reply, instead whipping out the Time-Turner from under his jacket. It glistened slightly and Potter's eyes strayed immediately to its structure. "Do me a favour and shut up, would you?" he hissed. "Now, let's see...the number of hours we have to go back is..." Draco swore when he realized he didn't have a clue how many turns he was supposed to make. It would be far too many for them to do it fast and get it over with. It was already a little over four o'clock, and if Potter had visited his home two days ago on a Friday, and Ginny had been killed two Wednesdays ago at ten in the morning, then...

The blond swore under his breath, but he was pretty sure Potter could hear him due to how close they were standing. Draco was nothing short of intelligent, and always got good grades back at Hogwarts. He was a Math whiz, too, and could multiply and divide so well it would give Albert Einstein a run for his money (not that he knew who Albert Einstein was, but you get the point), but being in such close proximity to Potter's body was making it hard to think. He was very aware of Potter's breathing pattern, smooth and regular and not in the least bit as rushed as Draco's, and he could see every movement of Potter's emerald eyes and pale pink lips, and how that stupid grey shirt hugged every inch of his body tightly, and showed it off very, very well...

"270 hours, Malfoy," Potter drawled suddenly.

Draco jerked out of his distracted thoughts. "What?"

"It's been 11 and a quarter days since Ginny's passing," Potter clarified. "270 hours. Make it 271 turns to be safe, so we get there on time."

The silver-eyed boy finally understood what Potter was trying so articulately to say. "271?" he gasped incredulously. "But that'll bloody well take forever! I can't make 271 turns, it'll take hours to do that, and then we'll have to add on even more!"

"Whatever, doesn't matter," Potter was saying. "You agreed to help me, Malfoy, and I'd appreciate it if you stuck to your word."

Draco ignored him. "Alright, where was I at 10 o'clock on Wednesday?" he muttered.

"What are you going on about?" Potter asked.

"I thought you said you've done this before!" Draco snarled. "When you travel through time, Potter, you end up in the same place your past self was at the time!"

Potter seemed to think about it. "Oh, yeah, I remember, Hermione and I had to hide in a broom cupboard to escape being spotter by our past selves."

Draco rolled his eyes. He didn't really care what the Scarhead and the Mud...Muggleborn had gotten up to right now. "Look, focus, Potter. I was in the Dragon diner at that time, and I remember you saying that you were in your home?" He didn't wait for a reply before going on. "I will meet you in front of the diner, because it's on your way to the bridge. Make sure it's me and not my past self you are meeting. You can't mix us up – my past self will be wearing an apron and I will not."

"You work at the diner?" Potter asked.

Draco sneered at the surprise in the other boy's tone. "I own it, but that's irrelevant right now." He closed his eyes. "Make sure I don't lose count, Potter. That would be devastating."

The Gryffindor raised his eyebrows. "For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, are you a wizard, or what?" Potter reached into the folds of his cloak and grabbed onto his wand, swishing it in front of the Time-Turner, muttering an incantation under his breath that would make the Time-Turner automatically flip that number of times at a high speed.

Draco only had a moment to wonder where Potter had learned a charm like that before he realized what was about to happen. "Potter! No!" he cried, but it was too late. Just as the words left his lips, he felt himself being hurtled through the air, with Potter by his side.

The last thing Draco remembered was a sickening crunch and incomparable pain before he blacked out completely.


	5. Comfort

White. Blinding, flashing white. That was all Harry could see. His vision had dissolved to nothing but whiteness, and he felt like he was floating on air. White pressed onto his body from all sides. He couldn't distinguish right from left, up from down, and it was as if he had no concept of time. Then the white faded to a kaleidoscope of colours, spiraling around in a formation, making him more dizzy than he already was. There was a rush of pain from inside his head, and he tried to raise his hand to suppress it but it felt as if his arms were glued in awkward positions, sending sparks of fiery pain through his blood.

"Potter!"

What was this? Someone was calling him, with a comfortably familiar voice – it was gentle even as it was harsh, and concern dripped from it even as that someone shoved him roughly in his arm. It took him a while to register the push, but when he did he was surprised by the softness of the skin upon his.

" _Potter!_ Wake up, goddamn it!"

Harry groaned as he was shaken again. His whole body felt like it was burning, his veins erupting with flames, as he forced himself to move.

"Damn it, Potter, you'll be the death of me!"

Harry felt his lips before forced open, and a rush of a warm liquid poured down his throat in a hurried flow, causing him to gag, but someone forced him to swallow it. It tasted terrible, but it ebbed away the blazing hurt and within seconds, the pain dissipated considerably within a few seconds. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and a hand grasp his hand, helping him up. He tried to sit, but he slipped slightly and the arm around his shoulders quickly dropped to support him, resting on the small of his back. Strangely, it all felt rather…comforting.

"If you can hear me, Potter, nod once."

Harry moaned softly as he tried to move his head, but he managed to lift his neck and give an affirmative. He heard the person supporting him breathe a huge sigh of relief.

"Bloody Saint Potter," the person swore. "If he's so damn brilliant, then why on earth doesn't he know that you can't use magic on Time-Turners?"

Another flash of pain went suddenly through Harry's head as he suddenly recollected everything that had happened, but as another potion was forced down his throat, he relaxed instantly. Slowly, he priced his eyelids open, but winced instantly as light entered them and he hurriedly squeezed them shut again. It was so tiring, to try to wake up like this. Maybe he should just sink back into a deep, warm, painless sleep...

"Damn it, Potter, don't you dare give up on me!"

Harry ignored the voice, which was slowly losing its familiarity. He wasn't giving up, he was just going to sleep, wasn't he? And that was fine...now if only that stupid voice would shut up...

"Wake the fuck up, Harry!"

At the sound of his first name being uttered from the lips of that hostile voice, Harry's eyes snapped open, causing a painful amount of light to stream into them, burning his retinas with every dart. He squinted against the harsh illumination, trying to make out the shadowed, blurry face spinning before him.

"M-Malfoy?" he croaked, when he recognized the translucent silver eyes watching him. That couldn't be right, Malfoy would have never said his first name, right?

"No, Potter, it's Merlin," snapped Malfoy sarcastically. "Now sit up and drink this down."

Harry forced himself onto his elbows, already starting to feel his strength seeping away. He was sure he had heard wrongly...after all, Malfoy was currently acting like a complete jerk as always. The blond would never be caught dead speaking Harry's given name, right?

Before he could complete that thought, Harry's head was tilted back and more liquid rushed down his oesophagus. In a matter of seconds after successfully swallowing it, he felt strength return to his limbs in a slightly foreign rush.

"Are you alright?" Malfoy asked, but Harry couldn't see any real anxiety in his eyes.

"Yeah," the brunet replied, his eyesight coming back into focus. "What'd you give me?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in poisoning you, Potter."

"I know that. But what'd you give me? What did you do?"

Malfoy sighed. "Well, firstly, you weren't breathing, so I had to borrow your wand and Anapneo you, then Rennervate you, and when that failed I gave you heaps of Strengthening Potions and a Calming Draught."

"You borrowed my wand?" Harry repeated blankly. "Why? What's wrong with yours?"

"In case you forgot, Potter, I haven't been to Diagon Alley in years and you are currently in possession of my wand," Malfoy snapped, sounding irked now.

Harry felt an embarrassed flush rise to his cheeks as he turned away to take in his surroundings. They seemed to be in a large field of lush greenery, surrounded by trees on either side. "Where are we?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm pretty sure we're in Wiltshire."

Harry slowly tried to stand, but felt dizzy almost immediately and slipped back down, supported by Malfoy. "My head feels awful," he moaned. "What happened?"

"You cast a spell on the damned Time-Turner, that's what," Malfoy replied. "You can't use magic on such an object, Potter! Oh, and yes, headaches tend to occur when you fall through a decade."

It took a few seconds for Harry to register the Slytherin's words, but when he did, he immediately sat bolt upright. "What? A decade? What do you mean?"

"The Time-Turner went bonkers," Malfoy replied, the epitome of calm and collective demeanour. "I don't think we're even close to our time any longer."

Harry was immediately struggling up to his feet again, this time prepared for the giddy spell that ensued and successfully kept himself in an impressive standing position. "Then where the hell are we?"

Malfoy glanced around, squinting against the sunlight. "Like I said, we're in Wiltshire. But I believe your question should have been ' _when_ are we' and not ' _where_ are we'."

"How do you know we're in Wiltshire?" Harry asked, a bit disgruntled by the fact that Malfoy hadn't any more of a clue as to what their next move was.

The blond paused, smoothing out his slightly creased blazer over his too-tight black pants. "Don't get your nerves in a wreck, Potter. It's no crime to have geographical knowledge."

"You haven't answered me." Harry's tone was more insistent than he'd meant it to be, but thankfully the other man did not seem to notice.

"I grew up in Wiltshire," Malfoy replied, distractedly fiddling with his long , pale fingers. He ran his pale fingers through his

"You mean the Manor is here?" Harry asked.

"Yes," stated the blond singularly, sounding indifferent and uninterested.

Harry noticed Malfoy was being unusually cold. Too cold, in fact, than was really necessary. He sighed. "Look, Malfoy, I'm really sorry about this," the green-eyed man said apologetically, but there was no response from his companion. "I mean it. I didn't know magic affected Time-Turners like that. We should probably just go back to sometime a bit more present."

Malfoy turned to glare at him. "Are you out of your mind, Potter? I was just about to forgive you when you revealed further the extent of your ignorance!"

Harry stared at him, trying to figure out what he could have done wrong now. "What?"

"Time-Turners don't travel forward in time, idiot!" Malfoy shouted.

Suddenly, Harry remembered what he himself had done that back in third year – he and Hermione hadn't gone forward in time after saving Buckbeak, they had . "Oh. Right."

Malfoy groaned out loud, burying his face in his hands. "Just my luck. I'm stuck in some stupid past and I've just realized that the Golden Boy has half a brain."

"Watch it," snapped Harry. Even though he could admit he was wrong, he didn't appreciate Malfoy going on about him like that. The Slytherin smirked and started walking in the opposite direction, completely oblivious to Harry's irritation. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from you, of course," was the reply, only serving to mount the Gryffindor's frustration.

Harry took off after Malfoy. "You don't have to be so insufferable..." he began, but was cut off by a light gasp from the other man, who started running frantically back to where he came from. "What...?"

"Get down!" the blond hissed, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him along with him behind a tree. "There's someone coming!"

But Harry couldn't hear anything Malfoy said after that, because he was experiencing something incredible – sparks. Sparks, cackling merrily in his ears, sending tingles up his arm originating from where Malfoy's skin touched his. It was a feelings unlike he'd ever had, even when he had been with Cho, or Ginny, or any other girl. In that instant, he felt so many emotions at once – fear, confusion, pain...and something else, something he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Then, just like that, it was over, and Harry realized that Malfoy had released his hand and was saying, "...can't be seen."

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked, but he rasped it out with such a heavy breath that his voice broke, causing Malfoy to turn and stare to at him.

"Frog got your tongue, Potter?" he sneered. When Harry continued to look blank, the Slytherin huffed and said, "If you had bothered to pay any attention to what I was saying, Potter, you would have heard me reminding you that we have to stay out of sight."

"Right, of course," Harry muttered distractedly. "Wait, is that...?" He gestured outwards, pointing at the people approaching steadily. Malfoy turned towards the direction and blanched, becoming even more pale than he already was, as Harry recognized the little boy running up towards them.

The boy was short and looked about seven or eight, but Harry had no trouble identifying the perfect platinum blond hair and clear grey eyes. There was no doubting that Harry was looking at the young Draco Malfoy. Even at this young age, those silver eyes were streaked with sadness, the would-be innocence already slightly marred, but Harry was glad to see some twinkle in those usually morose, icy steel-blue globes.

"We have to get out of here," the grown-up Malfoy was snarling next to him. "Now, Potter!"

"Come on, Malfoy, it's not like you're going to run behind this tree," Harry said, calm for the first time that day. "We'll most likely attract your adorable attention if we move now, anyway," he added jokingly, referring to the young version of his companion.

"No, no, we have to go," the blond protested. "Please, we have to go." His voice was riddled with panic, laced with fright. "Come on, Potter! My terms, remember?"

"If you keep shouting, you'll hear us for sure," Harry reprimanded him. "Oh, look, here comes your father..." He trailed off as Lucius came dashing into view.

"Potter! I said we have to go!" Malfoy's voice was filled with desperation as he tugged at Harry's arm, sending another flurry of sparks up his veins.

But the Gryffindor's eyes were fixed upon the scene unfolding before him. Lucius was shouting, his voice booming angrily, and Harry was struggling to understand why. As far as he was concerned, Malfoy had only been playing on the hills.

"I thought I told you not to leave the Manor when we have guests!" Lucius yelled, grabbing his son by the collar. Both the adult and child Malfoy whimpered, and Harry glanced at his companion with concern.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know..." The young Malfoy was sobbing, his voice high-pitched in fright. "I thought..."

"Malfoys don't just think, they _know_!" Lucius shouted, dropping his child back onto the grass. "I'll teach you to defy me!"

Lucius' hand, fingernails long and gleaming slightly in the sunlight, raise itself high into the air with vigour, at an almost inhuman speed. Everything started to go in slow motion for Harry as his jaw dropped, not daring to believe what he was seeing.

And then Lucius' closed fist swooped down on the kneeling, cowering young boy before him, striking him on the face with a sickening crunch that made Harry want to vomit. The young Malfoy was thrown backwards onto the grass, falling with a soft thud that caused Harry's heart to cry. His heart thumped loudly and audibly in his aching chest as he watched, helpless and unable to do anything as Lucius grabbed his son by the collar again and began dragging him back to the Manor, ignoring the pitiful, pained cried emitting from the split and bleeding mouth.

Slowly, Harry swallowed and turned to the older Malfoy. The blond was crouched, head between his legs, his shoulders heaving violently as he drew in shaky, uneven breaths. "Malfoy, I..." Harry was at a loss for words. He struggled to search for the appropriate thing to say, but before he could ponder it thoroughly, a strangled sob escaped from his companion's throat in a bitter rasp. Harry couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Malfoy was crying.

Now, anyone who was even remotely acquainted with Harry would know that he could never really tolerate weepy people. He sucked at comforting others, which was why he and Cho had never worked. It was also the main reason he had been attracted to Ginny – she was brazen, strong, and hardly ever cried.

But this was different. He longed to console Malfoy, to say anything, to do anything that would comfort him and ease his pain. Each tears that fell from the Slytherin's pale grey eyes sent a rush of pain right through Harry's heart, as if he was being stabbed by each drop.

"Malfoy..." Harry rushed to the man's side and tried to wrap a comforting arm around him, but the crying man jerked away roughly.

"No, leave me alone," he insisted, hiding his tear-stained face from the Gryffindor and inching to separate them.

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry sighed, trying to pull him back, but Malfoy hissed angrily.

"Just get lost," he snarled.

Harry reached for his companion and gently stroked his white-gold hair, insistently grabbing onto the man even as he protested and tried to distance himself.

"Go away, please!" Malfoy sobbed, but Harry could feel him giving in, slowly ceasing his struggling and just sitting there numbly, so Harry wrapped both of his arms protectively around the blond. "No, I don't need you..." Malfoy cried, but the next second, he had collapsed completely into Harry's arms, his tears staining the raven-haired man's grey shirt. His body shuddered violently in Harry's grasp.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Harry whispered into Malfoy's ear, holding the man tightly and securely. "I'm here." Tentatively, he reached up and stroked Malfoy's hair, taking in all his pain and grief as his body was wracked with his violent, shuddering sobs. He wasn't sure how long they would have to stay there, but there was one thing he knew for sure – he was glad to be there for Malfoy.

And he wanted to be there for him for a long time to come.


	6. Acquaintances

Draco never meant for Potter to see him that way. It was the last thing he had ever wanted, for his long-time crush to see him in such a state, in such a terrible mess. Hell, he sure as heck hadn't wanted the man to see him sobbing like a baby in a quivering wreck. But things never worked out the way he wanted them.

So now, he was leaning against Potter, his head rested squarely in the middle of his chest, trying to gain enough strength to get up and say 'thank you', and then forget about the whole thing and act as if nothing had ever happened. Surely that wasn't too much to ask for, surely Potter would understand how embarrassing this was for him. But somehow he knew that wasn't going to go his way either. Potter would ask him about it, torture him till he confessed, and Draco would never be able to say 'no'.

It was true, Draco had been abused by his father as a child, but it wasn't any worse than what the other Death Eater children got. Gregory Goyle had once come back from Christmas holidays with burn marks all over his chest, but Draco had known better than to say anything about it. Vincent Crabbe had several bones broken over the years, but had refused to admit it. Only Draco noticed the pain his friend had been going through. And yet, Vincent had to die, killed by his own Fiendfyre, the weapon he had been forced to learn for the sake of the war. Apparently that training had never done him much good. And Gregory was serving time in Azkaban for crimes his family committed. It wasn't fair.

Coming back to the point, Draco had been much better off than them. His father had at least felt some inkling of love towards him, even if he had lots of trouble showing it. And his mother had given him love enough to make up for any abuse Draco was forced to endure. But it hadn't made it any less painful. Each time his father slapped him, punched him, kicked him, or even sent a Stinging Hex at him, it broke off a little part of his soul, ripping at his very being, slowly tearing him to shreds. He used to cry himself to sleep every night thinking about it. This went on well into his teen years. Even with the Dark Lord back in power, Lucius still had time to take out his inner frustrations on his helpless son. It only stopped when his father had been captured and sent to Azkaban.

"Are you alright?"

Draco quickly snapped out of it, pushing himself off of Potter. "Yeah. Thanks." He slowly started to get up. "Look, we should find a way to get back." He brushed grass off the seat of his pants as he righted himself and began fiddling with the Time-Turner, wheeling around so his back was facing Potter's, praying that the clueless Gryffindor would get the hint and not bring what they had both witnessed up. Of course, wishing that much from someone like Potter was pointless.

"Malfoy…"

"I don't want to talk about it," snarled Draco. "Now can we _focus_ on getting back to our own goddamned time?" He fidgeted with the Time-Turner, trying to see if it had an option to go forward, but it slipped through his slim fingers and onto the grass. "Fuck it!" he swore, bending down to pick it up, causing a few vials of potions to tumble out of his jacket pocket and fall to the ground with light tinkles. He swore again before picking them up.

Potter was watching him – he could feel the brunet's emerald gaze locked on the back of his head. "Why are you carrying around all those potions?" the Potter asked slowly.

"Does it fucking matter?" snapped Draco, feeling irritated, humiliated and more ashamed than he'd ever been in his whole life. "These things saved your bloody life, Potter, so you'd better appreciate it."

"I do," assured Potter, and Draco felt his resolve to be nasty to the man weakening with each syllable. Potter sounded so damned innocent and sincere, it almost hurt. "I'm just curious as to why you have them and how you managed to get your hands on them, since you don't go into Diagon Alley anymore."

Draco sighed, shoving the potions back into his jacket pocket and making sure the pocket zipper was closed before answering. "They're for emergencies, and I brew them myself."

"You make those yourself?" Potter gasped, and Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I'm not completely hopeless, Potter, and as I recall I've always had a hand for potion-making," the blond replied coolly. "Now, if only there was a way to get this damned thing working…"

Potter watched him tinkering with the Time-Turner only a while longer. "Maybe we should get an inn. We probably won't be able to figure out a way to get out of here today. Look – it's already getting dark."

Draco turned to glare at him. The nerve… "And how, exactly, do you propose we rent an inn?" he yelled, exasperated. "The only inns here will recognize us in the future if we go there now!" He paused to draw in breath and calm himself before resuming. "If we want to stay the night in this time, we'll have to camp out."

"You make it sound like we're on a fucking roadtrip," Potter replied, laughing slightly.

Why did the Golden Boy have to sound so hot when he swore? "I don't have time for smart-ass remarks," Draco hissed, hardening his heart before getting up and walking off towards the top of the hill. "And if you're not following me, I don't have time to wait for you! You can go rescue your own goddamn girlfriend as far as I care!" he called over his shoulder, hoping to piss Potter off and lose him, but to his infuriation (and infatuation), the man only chuckled before hurrying off after him.

 _Damn it, Potter,_ Draco thought to himself. _How the fuck do I get over you?_

* * *

Harry followed Malfoy's lead carefully, each footstep falling cautiously in time with the other man's. His mind was disturbed, and he had so many questions floating in and out of his brain, just waiting to pour out his lips if he wasn't careful. Why had Lucius done that? When had it started? And most importantly, was Malfoy alright?

The Man-Who-Lived-Twice had to admit that watching the whole scene unfolding before him made him sick to his stomach. For several seconds he had felt an urge to grasp his stomach and throw up. It had been vile, cruel, wrong. And it had hurt him so badly to watch an innocent boy get beat up like that by his own father, who was supposed to protect and love him.

"Where are we going?" Harry called out, glancing around. It seemed to him as if Malfoy was just showing him blindly around the hill.

"If you're going to be impatient, go and rent your inn," was the only reply he got.

Harry sighed. Sure, Malfoy had always been mean to him, even bordering on evil, but the blond had always come to look for him, never pushed him away like this. Being unused to the situation, he didn't know how to react. After a moment's consideration, he decided on oblivious. "Thanks for the concern, but I think I'd rather stick with you," he said.

Malfoy didn't reply as he brought Harry around a corner. "I hope you know how to rough it out, Potter," the blond sneered.

"Much better than you do, I assure you," Harry replied coldly. Malfoy had no clue what he, Ron and Hermione had gone through that whole year.

"Good," was Malfoy's singular reply. "This is the cave where I used to hide." He gestured towards a small opening in the hill. "It's not so much a cave as a…well, a nook, I suppose, but us beggars can't be choosers."

Harry couldn't contain a snort at Malfoy referring to himself as a beggar, which earned him a well-deserved glare from the latter. "Can we fit?" he asked.

"I don't know and I don't care," Malfoy snapped. "If you can't fit in here, you can sit outside. I, on the other hand, am going to get some sleep."

"Now?" Harry asked, exasperated. "It's barely even eight o'clock!"

"Well I wasted all my energy reviving you, in case you've forgotten," Malfoy replied, smirking. "So forgive me for needing my beauty sleep."

"Well I wasted all my energy _comforting_ you, in case _you've_ forgotten," spat back Harry, but it came out a lot crueler than he'd intended.

Malfoy winced visibly before snapping back into an unreadable composure and turning his back to Harry, who covered his face with his hands, cursing his tactlessness.

"Sorry," he sighed. "I didn't mean that." Malfoy didn't respond, studying his fingernails as if they were interesting artifacts. "Malfoy, I said…"

"I heard what you said," Malfoy said coldly.

"I really…"

"Forget about it," Malfoy sighed, giving in a lot more easily than Harry expected. "It was slip of tongue – habit. It happens."

Harry let out a sigh of relief at Malfoy's forgiving tone. "Thanks."

"Whatever. Now, excuse me, I have to get my beauty sleep," the Slytherin said sternly, clambering into the small cave.

Harry snorted at the phrase chosen by Malfoy, which caused the blond to poke his head back out of the little nook.

"What?" Malfoy snapped. "You have a problem with that?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "It's just that the whole 'beauty sleep' thing sounds a bit.."

"A bit what, exactly?"

"You know…a bit gay."

Malfoy leaned back, folding his arms neatly across his chest as he settled down on the right side of the cave. "And what if it is?"

"I was just saying," sighed Harry, clambering into the entrance as well. There was just enough space for both of them to fit without feeling too claustrophobic. He settled in carefully beside his companion. "No need to take it so personally."

There was a short silence, and for a while Harry thought Malfoy had fallen asleep already, but then the silver-eyed boy spoke. "And what if _I_ am?"

Harry furrowed his brow, propping himself up on his elbow to look at him. "What if you're what?"

"Gay."

That one word winded Harry and he nearly let his jaw drop, but instead of giving in to his shock, he gulped noisily to swallow his declaration of disbelief. "Well…then I meant no offence." Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, he lay back down onto his back and closed his eyes, hoping to avoid any further conversation.

There was a dry chuckle from Malfoy, then no more noises. Once he was sure it was safe, Harry cracked one of his eyelids open and saw that his blond friend was asleep. He smiled at the look of peace over the other man's features, his brow finally free of a frown, his lips no longer downturned, and his forehead free of creases. Come to think of it, Harry had never seen Malfoy this way – truly serene. Even the whole time of their little misadventure through time, the blond had never looked completely happy. Harry could always catch a glimpse of sadness, indecision or annoyance through the Slytherin's smiles. But now, watching Malfoy look so peaceful…it was something Harry could get used to. Smiling, he shut his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Harry awoke the next day, he was alone and the cave was empty. He sat up and glanced around before feeling a sharp, throbbing pain shooting up his neck, which he instinctively grabbed with a groan. Darn, stiff neck – it always happened when he slept in awkward positions nowadays. Maybe he had gotten soft.

Making sure his wand was still with him, Harry crawled out of the little cavern and was relieved to see Malfoy tying his shoelace outside. The blond's back was to him, and he was perched on top of a rock, barely actually paying attention to his laces but to the world around him. Harry wondered vaguely what he could be thinking about, or if his mind was anywhere near them right now.

"Morning," Harry called out to him, as manner of greeting. Malfoy grunted shortly in response, then promptly went back to untangling and re-knotting his shoelace. "Well, you're grumpy," Harry added with a smile.

Having successfully fixed his shoes, Malfoy stood up. "Gear up. We're going to Diagon Alley."

Stunned, Harry stared at him. "What?"

"Diagon Alley. Now." Malfoy's voice was stern and sharp.

"I heard you," Harry snapped, rushing up to stand next to the blond. "I meant, why?"

"Because I want to know what year it is," the Slytherin responded. "There's a train station a half mile away that'll bring us to the Leaky Cauldron area."

"What exactly are you planning to do?" the brunet asked, eyeing the other man with slight wariness.

"Look, Potter, I'm _trying_ to save your fiancée here," Malfoy hissed. "To do that, we need to get back to our time, and to know how to do so, we should first ask around for the date."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Harry couldn't help but ask. It sounded risky, and he was certain that everyone would recognize them in the future all too easily.

"Got any better ones?" Malfoy questioned. There was a dare in his voice, and when Harry didn't reply quick enough, he snorted. "Thought not. Now come on, or I'm leaving you behind."

Harry sighed, picking up the pace and rushing after his new friend as he rushed down the hill ahead of him. Did he really have a choice?

If he had expected the train ride to be awkward and uncomfortable, Harry was far from right. As soon as they boarded the train heading to Charing Cross Road, he thought they would fall into silence and allow the ride to pass in disturbing quiet from lack of things to say, but it was far from that. Harry had no idea what to do, and had merely held his tongue, staring out the window, when Malfoy spoke.

"When was the last time you went to Diagon Alley?"

Harry glanced up at him, surprised that for once, the arrogant blond had bothered to contribute a conversation topic. "A couple months back."

"Oh? That's not too long ago," Malfoy replied.

"Yeah," Harry responded, not sure where this was going or why Malfoy was talking to him so civilly. "I didn't want to go back, but I wanted to get a new broomstick for Ginny, to surprise her for her birthday."

"She played Quidditch?" questioned Malfoy, sounding genuinely interested, which took Harry by surprise. Why would Malfoy care about his fiancée, about the girl who he always referred to as the Weasellete? Or was he just pretending to care, for the sake of conversation?

"Yeah, she was a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies," Harry said slowly, trying to see what the blond was up to. "She was thinking of retiring after our…wedding. Maybe write for the Prophet."

"I see," Malfoy noted softly, nodding his head. "She must have been brilliant in the air."

"That she was," Harry replied, a small smile forming on his lips in fond memory of the redhead he had grown to love so much. "She loved flying more than I did," he confessed. "Once, on our first anniversary, we spent the day flying over the mountains, and she refused to come down, so we stayed up all night there and fell asleep under the stars." He smiled, leaning back into the comfy leather seats. "The brooms just sitting in the basement at our gift shop now. She didn't get the chance to celebrate her birthday with me." He felt saddened by the thought that Ginny had gone before he could give present it to her. Then, Harry realized who he was talking to, and stopped himself from continuing. He didn't understand why it was so easy for him to just talk about things like this to Malfoy, but he did know that talking about Ginny made him feel so much better.

Malfoy was smiling, too, albeit rather sadly. "It sounds like you really loved her."

"I still do," Harry replied. "Just…not in the way you think."

Malfoy eyed him curiously at that statement, but probably read the emotions on Harry's face and knew not to comment on it any further – another thing that surprised the Gryffindor. How did Malfoy read Harry so well and seem to never misunderstand him? It was baffling.

"So, when was the last time _you_ visited Diagon Alley?" Harry asked, changing the subject abruptly, a question which Malfoy was only too happy to entertain.

They carried on in this manner for the rest of the way there, and the ride felt so short. Harry never dreamed that he could laugh and actually speak to Malfoy without them trying to jinx each other's legs off. It was incredible and something Harry could have never expected, and a moment he would love to repeat…anytime, anywhere.

* * *

After making their way through the Leaky Cauldron and trying to look inconspicuous, Harry and Malfoy finally arrived in Diagon Alley, and Harry was overtaken by the same bout of childish excitement as his eyes darted all around the venue. It was packed with families and the rich tingle of magic was in the air, floating around and filling Harry with a fantastic, deep, settling feeling that he had been missing.

"It's refreshing to see this place in its old glory," Malfoy said softly as he looked around.

Harry nodded in sad agreement. Diagon Alley in their time was currently only a shell of what it used to be, of what it was in this time. After the war, it had taken a while for shops to reopen, and even then, income wasn't that good with former Death Eaters who hadn't been captured still terrorized the town at night. Wizards wanted safety, and even with the Ministry working as hard as they could, it was hard to get things back into shape.

"I guess we should ask around," Harry sighed. When Malfoy looked at him a certain way, Harry snapped, "Come on, these people see different blokes every day. They won't remember us."

"You'd better do it then," Malfoy replied smugly. "After all, you look so different without your geeky glasses."

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that there was no point arguing, and took one step out into the sun. It didn't look too old, maybe a little closer to their time than he'd originally expected. He could hear snatches of conversation everywhere.

"Look, it's the Nimbus 2000!"

"Can I get an owl, mom? Please, please, please…"

And then…

"Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

Harry froze as he saw a large man with a great bush of hair coming around the corner, next to a boy who looked awfully like…

"Shit!" Harry swore, running back into the shadows.

"What is it now, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, annoyed.

"Malfoy, my past self is out there, with Hagrid!" Harry whispered urgently.

Malfoy's eyes flew wide open. "What? Really? Do you have any idea where your past self is going? Or what year this is?"

"It's our first year, and I'm about to go into Madame Malkin's, I think," Harry replied. "But I can't be sure. Why don't you walk out and check instead?"

Malfoy turned to glare at him. "Are you out of your fucking mind, Potter?"

"Look, I can't very well go around when my past self is wandering too," Harry said indignantly. "Surely it's not too hard for you to take a few steps into the sunlight."

"Potter, don't you remember anything?" Malfoy hissed. "If this _is_ our first year, and you _are_ about to buy some goddamned robes…then I'll be in that shop too!"

"What?" Harry asked, blankly.

"Well, don't you remember, Potter?" Malfoy questioned.

Harry shook his head dumbly, feeling suddenly a lot stupider than he did before, and experienced a strange sense of déjà vu.

"This, Potter," Malfoy said, slowly and clearly, so that the obviously daft Gryffindor would not miss a single word, "This is where we first met."

Harry's mouth was still hanging agape a few seconds after Malfoy broke the news to him. He suddenly remembered everything that had happened, and his first impression of the boy with the pale, pointed face that had been standing on the stool next to his, boasting in a bored, drawling voice and bearing an attitude reminiscent of Dudley.

"You don't remember," accused Malfoy, sounding slightly hurt, which surprised Harry even further. Why should it matter to the blond anyway?

"I do," Harry assured him, also not understanding why he felt such a compulsive need to comfort the other man. "I remember, you asked me if I was going to Hogwarts. You were telling me how unfair it is that first years aren't allowed their own brooms, and that you were going to bully your father into buying a racing broom for you, then smuggling it into Hogwarts."

Malfoy's laughed. "I remember that too."

Harry beamed back, suddenly getting caught up in the nostalgia of it all. Malfoy had then asked him what house he would be in, and Harry hadn't a clue what he was going on about, and then asked where his parents were. Harry distinctly remembered hearing Malfoy apologizing when the brunet informed him that they were dead, but he probably didn't give two flying fucks. He wasn't sure how, or why, he remembered all of that. Several events over the years had become blurry to him, but not this one, not meeting Malfoy. It had defined Harry too much – it was almost as if he was destined to be enemies with the man forever, and had made him the person he was today. In a way, it could be said that Malfoy molded him into the man he had become, but Harry wasn't sure whether to thank him or hex his brains out for that.

"Any idea what we have to do next?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

There was a shrug from the blond. "How should I know? We're too far into the past to wait around, but that's clearly the only option available."

Harry nodded in distressed agreement, boldly taking a step out and glancing into the shop window. He could see his past self now, looking at Malfoy with an expression of mixed disgust and confusion, and Malfoy's little form looking as proud and puffed up as ever, probably boasting about his long Slytherin lineage. Harry was vaguely aware of Malfoy watching the pair of their eleven-year-old selves interacting for the very first time. It was strange observing themselves like this, and realizing how much that one event had shaped their lives. Harry couldn't help but wonder, if Malfoy had approached him differently, maybe shown how nice he really was inside, would they still have been sworn enemies? What kind of people would they both be, today?

"We're stuck here, aren't we?" Malfoy asked suddenly from his left, turning back against the brick and concrete.

Harry sighed, turning to lean against the wall next to Malfoy, thinking their situation through carefully. There was nobody they could really trust with their problems involving the Time-Turner – they would all either think them crazy or report them to the Ministry. But Harry didn't want to stay stuck in this time for a decade. Who could they speak to? There was no one Harry could think of who could possibly understand and be willing to help.

Except…

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly.

"What now, Potter?" The blond sounded irked beyond reason.

"We have to get to Hogwarts. Dumbledore can help us."

Malfoy snorted, getting off the wall. "How the fuck do you propose we do that?"

"The train leaves for Hogwarts in one month," Harry replied. "It's a long time to wait, but…"

"We are _not_ going to sit around for one whole bloody month just to talk to a headmaster!" Malfoy contradicted under his breath. "I'll be damned if I give up that much time just to meet your bloody idol."

"He is _not_ my idol," the Gryffindor replied. "But he can help us, Malfoy. And if we don't go to him, then what are we supposed to do, huh? Hang around here for a decade?"

Malfoy seemed to consider him carefully for a bit. "Fine," he said, at long last, finally coming to agreement with something Harry said. "But you're the one who's going to figure out how we live and eat, Potter. I don't plan on dying yet. Don't forget that you're the one who got us into this mess, so you're sure as hell going to get us out of it. Am I clear?" With that, he turned and walked the opposite direction of Madam Malkin's, leaving Harry to figure out how to keep them alive for the next month.


	7. Flashbacks

A pair of emerald green eyes gazed longingly out into the horizon, staring blankly out of the stained glass windows framed by vines growing down the roof and onto the foundation. They were tired, weary with strain and stress, slightly puffy from lack of sleep and abundance of worrying.

Those green orbs turned to look at a certain blond man, currently curled up on a thin mattress on the floor with his grey eyes sealed shut, but after spending nearly a month in his vicinity, Harry knew he wasn't really sleeping – merely feigning it to avoid an overexertion of energy.

Harry had managed to find a small inn just outside of Diagon Alley, in Muggle London, which he knew would have been demolished by the time either of them came to live there. The innkeeper was a strange and grubby, but nevertheless nice, man who had agreed to let them sleep and eat there in exchange for their services (as cleaners, waiters, receptionists, cooks or whatever he decided) for a month. Of course, they only got the spare room down by the basement and a pair of scratchy, thin mattresses with a few measly coverings, but Harry was well aware of the fact that he and Malfoy were desperate.

The brunet knew that he, too, should be conserving whatever strength he had for when their shift started in an hour, but he couldn't bring himself to lie down and close his eyes. He also knew that Malfoy would probably scold him for being so stubborn later, but he couldn't help it – he was painfully restless and couldn't sit still.

Being forced to live with Malfoy hadn't been nearly as bad as he'd expected. He had proved to be considerate, compassionate and not in the least bit annoying – three terms Harry never expected to be associated with the Slytherin. Being cooped up with the blond constantly for these near four weeks had been quite enlightening and Harry had learned so much about Malfoy that he'd never imagined, from little things like his morning and evening routines (some of which Harry found rather amusing) to his views on certain aspects of life.

And so it was now, in a daze as he stared out the window at nothing in particular, his thoughts flying aimlessly through his wandering brain, that he thought of Malfoy. He didn't know why, but his mind had often times been preoccupied with ponderings of the drawling blond. Harry would think of the few conversations they'd had, or those rare moments when Harry was granted an insight into his companion's being.

On their first night, Harry had scrambled under the flimsy sheet serving as his blanket on his mattress with every intention of drifting off right away from exhaustion and fear of conversation. He laughed softly to himself now, just thinking about it.

_The miserable excuse of a bed felt terrible against Harry's skin. He groaned quietly to himself, chiding his body for growing accustomed to the cosy allure of a comfortable life. Sighing one more time, he closed his eyes, allowing his stressed out muscles to relax._

" _Try to relax, Potter."_

_Malfoy's voice startled Harry, causing him to turn over to look at the man on his left. "What?"_

_The Slytherin sneered. "Really, Potter, you're so tense. Learn to relax, it might do you good."_

" _How can_ you _be so calm?" Harry asked incredulously. "We're stuck here for a month, in Muggle London, until we can somehow sneak on the bloody Hogwarts Express without being seen by thousands of students and parents alike." Shaking his head, he fell back into an uneasy stance, resting face up on his mattress._

" _That kind of optimism isn't going to get us anywhere," Malfoy replied slickly._

" _The only reason you're not stressed out is because_ you _didn't have to negotiate with the manager and convince him that we weren't a couple of bums," Harry hissed._

" _Potter, I've been through much worse than this, and I know you have too," was the simple, nonchalant reply._

_That stumped Harry for several moments until he eventually decided not to reply. He snapped his eyes shut, thinking that would be the end of their conversation, but no such luck._

" _Sit up."_

_Again, Harry was taken aback. "What?"_

" _I said 'sit up', Potter," Malfoy replied. "Haven't got a frog in your ear too, now, have you?"_

" _Why?" asked Harry, suddenly suspicious. Just because they had been through some shit together didn't mean that he and Malfoy were going to be all chummy._

_The blond heaved a huge sigh. "If I wanted to kill you, Potter, I've had plenty opportunities to do so, and I didn't take them. So sit up."_

_Eyeing his companion warily, Harry slowly obliged, getting up off the bed pulling himself into a sitting position. "Now what?"_

" _Turn around," Malfoy replied._

_Harry stared at him like he was crazy. "I'm sorry, what?"_

" _For Merlin's sake, have you lost your sense of hearing?" the Slytherin responded, amusement heavy in his voice. "I said, 'turn the fuck around'."_

 _Watching the blond's eyes for any sigh of betrayal, Harry spun himself around until his back was completely to Malfoy. "Now what…oh!" Harry let out a short gasp as he felt a pair of hands latch onto his shoulders and gently massage them. Where in Merlin's name had a boy as pampered as Malfoy learned to do_ that _? It felt bloody amazing! He couldn't keep in several rather embarrassing groans and moans that escaped his lips as the other man successfully kneaded away all the tension and knots in his shoulders and back._

Harry couldn't help but shiver slightly at the memory. It had been a bit too intimate for him to handle at first, mainly because Malfoy…uh…played for the other team, but soon Harry had been too lost in the sensation to care. There was no denying that slight awkwardness had ensued the following morning when they got up to work their first day, but by unspoken agreement, they had never spoken of it, nor had the night's events been repeated.

There had been several nights when Harry had awoken drenched in sweat, from a new nightmare he had never experienced before. He was used to bad dreams – they haunted him constantly, both in the day and the night, reminding him of the unnecessary deaths and losses of his loved ones – but this was totally different. In this dream, he was reaching out for Ginny, but he could never reach her, and his sister and best friend just seemed to slip through his fingers each time before disappearing into nothingness. One thought stuck to his mind: _She died believing I loved her. She died believing a lie._

Maybe that was the one of the reasons Harry desperately needed to save her – to tell her the painful, but genuine truth. He did not feel for her in that way. He wanted to marry her for all the wrong reasons. He was denying her love, real love, the kind of love only a man who truly wanted her could provide. It was the guilt that wracked his bones that wanted her back alive, and at times he wondered if it was really worth it.

What had he been fighting for, anyway? For her, to keep her alive, or for himself, for his own, selfish reasons?

Malfoy had nightmares, too, but they sounded much more brutal than Harry's. Malfoy had awoken screaming just a fortnight ago, but had refused to let Harry comfort him. He had insisted that he was fine, shoved Harry off and promptly closed his eyes and turned away. But Harry knew he never slept after a nightmare. It would be too horrifying to sink back into a world where everything was out of your control, where you would be forced to relive your worst fears and memories. Harry knew. He went through that, too. Why couldn't Malfoy see that Harry understood? Sure, Harry's dreams were never powerful enough to cause him to wake up yelling, but that didn't make them any less terrifying.

There were moments when Harry felt that Malfoy was distancing himself from him, but then there were those few, rare, precious times when it was as if they'd known each other for years. Harry loved those instances – they made him feel like he wasn't alone, like he had a friend. At one point, they had gone out shopping with whatever Muggle money that happened to have for some clothes so they wouldn't have to wear the same thing all the time, and it Harry had never felt that close to someone in all his life.

" _Really, Potter,_ that _? Are you serious?"_

_Harry turned to smile at Malfoy, who had one eyebrow raised and was wrinkling his nose at the shirt in Harry's hand. "What's wrong with it?" he demanded, hoping to convince the blond that his choice of outfit was tasteful, even though he knew next to nothing about fashion._

" _Not only is it badly cut, it's also the most ridiculous colour I've ever seen," Malfoy replied coolly, grabbing the offensive article of clothing from Harry's hands and putting it back on the shelf. "If it can even be called a colour," he added as an afterthought. "You should try something like this instead." The blond then proceeded to pull out a short-sleeved, emerald green t-shirt. "Or this." He reached for a button-down navy blue top._

 _Harry had to laugh at Malfoy's obvious enthusiasm and love for shopping. "You are_ not _picking out my clothes for me, Malfoy," he insisted. "I'm perfectly capable of doing so myself."_

_The Slytherin turned to stare at him in disbelief. "Coming from the man who'd wear a grey shirt meant for sleeping out to lunch," he said, laughing as he referred to the time when their little misadventure began with ease. The sound of the blond's laughter sent a warm, pleasant feeling rushing through Harry's veins, which kept the Gryffindor from retorting in time. Malfoy shoved the two shirts into Harry's arms. "Go on then, try them on."_

_Harry rolled his eyes as he made his way into the fitting room. He tried the green shirt first, barely casting himself a glance in the mirror before opening the door to present himself to Malfoy. He never bothered much with his appearance, as he had been made to believe that he didn't have a particularly exceptional one. He didn't mind not being hot or handsome or whatever. The fact was that he just didn't care._

_Harry could have sworn that Malfoy's jaw dropped for a brief second before he recollected himself. "See how much better it is than your original choice? That looks wonderful on you."_

" _It does?" Harry blinked. He had never,_ ever _been complimented about his looks before, even when he was with Ginny. He had always put it down to her being attracted to the person he was inside, not to his physical appearance, which suited him just fine. The brunet spun to look in the mirror, and realized that he didn't look half-bad at all. Maybe it was good for him to have someone with better fashion sense pick out his attire once in a while._

_Next, he tried on the dark blue, long-sleeved button-down. This time, he spared a second to look at himself in the mirror, but didn't see anything special, so he flung open the door again and turned to face Malfoy._

_The Slytherin laughed at the initial sight of him, which made Harry feel oddly insecure, something he hadn't felt for a while. "The colour suits you, but really, Potter, you don't have to button it all the way up to the collar," Malfoy reprimanded him smoothly, striding up to stand in front of him. "It makes you look like a terrible dork."_

" _Hey!" Harry chided good-naturedly, about to come up with some witty comeback when Malfoy reached out and undid the top button of his collar._

_Harry felt the heat rise to his face, but wasn't sure why as Malfoy gently undid another one. Harry noticed that Malfoy's fingers were trembling slightly and felt himself getting warmer…why didn't they lower the damned thermostat? Malfoy's deft hands brushing nonchalantly against his chest made his heart race suddenly, but it all left Harry confused._

_Then Malfoy glanced down at Harry, who was just an inch or so shorter than him, and Harry felt those silver eyes bore into his own, and for once, Malfoy's uncaring, cold mask was off and Harry could see all of him, right down to his soul. It gave him a peculiar feeling he couldn't place._

_But just like that, it was over. Malfoy practically leaped away from Harry, covering it up with a shaky but nevertheless mostly genuine smile. "There, see? Much better without the nerd impression," he grinned, but Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like fear in those grey eyes before they were shielded and guarded again._

_The Gryffindor spun away to avoid the awkwardness, then saw himself in the mirror. "You're right," Harry said in surprise. "That_ is _an improvement."_

" _Told you," Malfoy replied. "Now how are you going to repay me?" His voice was lightly teasing, but again, Harry heard the tension there, the fright._

" _I can pick out_ your _new outfit for you," Harry offered, spinning back to him._

_Malfoy's eyes widened. "Like hell you will! There's no way I'm letting you talk me into wearing a paint-stained smock or a colourless t-shirt."_

_Harry grinned mischievously, glad that the crisis had been averted. "We'll see about that." But even as Harry changed back to his original outfit, and even as he and Malfoy spent another hour there bickering and laughing about Harry's clothing preferences and how weird Malfoy looked in all Harry's choices…the brunet couldn't help but feel as if something great was supposed to occur, and he had missed out on his chance to make it happen._

There was a sound of light, regular breathing and Harry turned away from the window, smiling when he realized Malfoy had finally drifted off to actual sleep. He was about to resume gazing outside when Malfoy began to shiver violently. Harry frowned for a few seconds. Sure, it was cold, but not _that_ cold. Then it hit him – the blond was having another nightmare.

"Malfoy!" Harry called, dashing over to his side to wake him. "Malfoy! Wake up!"

Malfoy groaned, but remained asleep, mumbling, "No, no, no…" over and over again.

"Malfoy! Wake up!" Harry grabbed the Slytherin by the shoulders and shook him gently, then slightly rougher when he still didn't open his eyes. "Malfoy!"

And then, much to Harry's relief, the blond jerked upward, letting out a pained cry before gasping for breath and falling into Harry, wide awake.

"Relax, you were having a bad dream," Harry said, trying to calm the man.

Malfoy seemed to snap fully awake at that point and hurriedly distanced himself from Harry. "Right. Sorry. Thanks." He uttered those three words with a tension in his voice like a wound up spring, and was immediately standing at the opposite side of the room from Harry.

Harry sighed. He should have expected this. Malfoy was insecure about his problems, refusing to discuss the abuse Harry had witnessed or any of his recurring nightmares, but would it kill him to maybe open up a little bit? "Malfoy, come back here. Sit down."

"I don't think you have much right to order me around, Potter," Malfoy replied smugly, folding his arms and gripping the long sleeves of the new dark green shirt he was wearing so fiercely that Harry was concerned for the state of the fabric. Speaking of which, Harry couldn't help but note that Malfoy had only bought shirts with long sleeves and refused to appear shirtless in front of him – was the great former Slytherin prince self-conscious about his body or something? Harry couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. He longed to do something to help Malfoy, but it was proving a difficult task with all the insecurities he hid.

They were silent for several moments. Harry went to sit on his own bed and drew up his knees to his chest, studying the wall opposite him. He had to choose his words carefully if he wanted to avoid any confrontation, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say to get his new friend to talk to him. How could he convince Malfoy that all he really wanted to do was be there for him?

Taking a deep, somewhat shaky breath, Harry started. "I have nightmares too."

"Of course you do, you're the fucking Chosen One," Malfoy snapped.

Harry sighed, but chose to ignore him as he went on, appearing oblivious to whatever Malfoy wanted to say. "Sometimes they're not so bad, and I can take them. Just flashes, nothing too vivid, just little bits of painful memories. But a lot of them are horrible. It's like I'm right there, and I can't do anything to stop it. I have to watch my friends fall around me." He paused for breath and waited for Malfoy to interrupt, which he did almost instantly.

"I don't want to hear another bloody sob story from the fucking Golden Boy, Potter."

Again, Harry shrugged off the snappy retort, and instead turned to look at the blond with what he hoped was an understanding expression. "Lately, I've been having one of Ginny a lot. I can see her, right there in front of me, and I just know I have to reach her, to get to her somehow…but then when I reach out my fingers, I realize she's too far away." Harry looked up at his companion, who had finally fallen silent. It seemed as if the Chosen One had at last captured the Slytherin Prince's attention. "It always seems…so real, as if I'm there, and it makes me feel so helpless, so _lost_." Harry stopped himself from continuing, because although he wanted to confide his innermost thoughts and emotions in Malfoy, he was afraid that the blond would only look at it as 'another bloody sob story'. "Look, I'm not asking you to share what's going on in your head. I'm just saying that if you ever need someone to listen, hey. I'm here."

Without waiting for a response, Harry got to his feet. "I'm going to get ready for work," he said, walking over to Malfoy and clapping him on the shoulder, a gesture of friendship and compassion. "Remember, we leave for Hogwarts tomorrow."

Malfoy still hadn't moved by the time Harry got to the door. He was about to shove it open when Malfoy called after him.

"Thanks, Potter."

Harry smiled, turning back to him. "Anytime, Malfoy."


	8. Travel

Draco was fuming. He was lacking precious sleep, felt like a mess, was aching all over from mopping the whole inn three times, _and_ he hadn't had a proper meal in a full month, so this was just the last straw. Sure, there were many things he'd do for a certain endearing raven-haired, emerald-eyed boy, but this was really pushing it.

"It's bloody six o'clock in the morning!" he yelled at the Golden Boy.

"We have to get on the train before anyone else sees us," was Potter's calm reply, which only served to further infuriate the blond.

"Are you a wizard or not?" the Slytherin shouted. "Can't you use a Disillusionment charm?"

"That's not going to stop us from being _solid_ ," countered Potter without a single bat of an eyelash – he had thought this one out. "Do you honestly think no one will notice if they crash right into us holding their trunks and an owl? Which is why we have to find a way to _sneak on_." He said the words slowly, as if speaking to an incompetent imbecile, which only served to heighten Draco's temper.

Hmm…perhaps the Scarhead was right, but Draco wasn't going to admit that. "Yes, but why at this time? Are you mentally unstable?" Draco demanded. "In case you haven't noticed, Potter, we're both exhausted and will probably collapse from weariness as soon as we step onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."

"Well, maybe you, but I don't need any _beauty sleep_ ," Potter smirked, with a sneer worthy of any descendant of Salazar.

Draco was caught off-guard by the Gryffindor's uncharacteristic response. It was impossible for him not to fall a little more each time Potter displayed a little of his Slytherin side, which he seemed to actually have a lot of. Thankfully, Draco recovered just in time. "I can see you clearly don't get enough of it," he snorted. It was a lie, and it was low, how he was taking a jab at Potter's appearance just to get a reaction. Unfortunately, he didn't get a satisfactory one.

"Neither do you, by the looks of it," was the confident reply. "Clearly I've had a little more over the years."

"Oh, you take that back!" Draco shouted, losing his cool and lunging for the brunet.

Potter didn't have time to dodge as Draco tackled him, sending him crashing onto the floor, looking surprised by the blond's willingness to resort to an actual physical attack. Draco wasted no time in aiming a punch at the Gryffindor's head, but Potter nimbly dodged it and threw one of his own which caught Draco in the stomach, winding him. They wrestled for a while in that manner, but before they knew it what originally looked like a genuine fist-fight turned into something utterly ridiculous. Neither could fathom why a pair of grown adults had decided to attack each other, and soon they were both laughing and tackling each other playfully.

"Take it back!" Draco yelled, barely getting it out in one fluid sentence because he was chortling so hard.

"No way!" Potter shouted back, laughing as he pinned Draco to the ground, preventing him from getting back up.

Draco struggled against Potter, then realized the other man was clearly larger and stronger and gave up, taking a few calming breaths. Slowly, the anger that fueled his sudden lunge for battle dissolved and was replaced by something…different. His heart skipped several beats when he noticed how close he was to the other man. He was suddenly aware of every touch of Potter's lightly tanned skin on his, and the gentle, soft gaze of the emerald eyes into his own, and realized all of a sudden that his own grey eyes were wide open, vulnerable…and very easy to read. Potter had seen it all – the emotions flickering through them.

And just like that, he had ruined it. Potter was hurriedly getting off of him. "Sorry," the boy said, in that velvety voice that was sensual even without his trying, and in his uncomfortable awkwardness, dashed out of the room while still muttering apologies.

Draco shook his head, trying to clear it. He was embarrassed beyond belief, but also slightly puzzled, confused. Because for just a split second, he was sure he had seen something in those beautiful green eyes too.

* * *

Harry panted, gasping for breath. His chest felt tight and uncomfortable as his heart hammered repeatedly in his chest. He couldn't remember ever feeling so close to having a heart attack as he did now. His pulse pounded in his wrist, neck and temple, and he found it too hard to focus on catching his breath, only one question in his mind.

What the hell was that?

* * *

"This is it," Harry whispered. Beside him, Malfoy was silent as they stared at the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. A feeling of nostalgia swept over him as he eyed the inconspicuous metal ticket box, one most Muggles barely paid any attention to, recalling the first time he had gone through it. They were both hidden by Harry's out-of-practice Disillusionment Charm, and it felt a little odd to Harry to hear the man's voice without seeing him, and wondered vaguely if his friends had felt the same when he was in his invisibility cloak.

"You ready?" Malfoy asked in a strained rasp, his nervousness clearly displayed in his shaking voice. Although Harry couldn't see him, he knew all-too-well that his companion was terrified.

Harry gave a very stiff nod, even though he knew that Malfoy wouldn't be able to see it. He was reluctant to offer any verbal confirmation, afraid his voice would betray too much of the tidal wave of emotions they were both facing.

If the Slytherin was waiting for a response, he lost his patience. "Here goes nothing," he said instead, and Harry felt his shoulder being brushed by Malfoy's as the blond passed him and walked into the barrier. Taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes, Harry followed suit.

He reemerged on the other side and opened his eyes. His heart soared at the familiar sight of the wide open platform. A sign was hanging overhead – Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock. They had a half-hour before the train left and students began to emerge. As expected, the train had already pulled into the station, and Harry couldn't help the sudden blur of memories that whipped in and out of his brain, thoughts of coming here almost every year since he was eleven, the place he had met his three best friends – Ron, Hermione and Ginny (albeit briefly) – and began a new, incredible journey.

"We should probably figure out a way to sneak on," Malfoy was saying when Harry came out of his daydream.

"What? Oh, yes, right," he replied, quickly turning his attention to the task at hand. "We could probably take the door right in the middle, no one would notice us there."

Malfoy nodded in silent agreement as they stalked towards the Hogwarts Express. Harry slid the back door open, wincing as it emitted a too-loud screech, but no one seemed to notice, not even the lady prepping the food cart a few feet away inside the train. He was surprised at the lack of security. He had never realized that due to the fact that everyone thought Tom Riddle vanquished in this time, no one cared who went on and off the train and when. Even as Malfoy's footsteps sounded audibly and Harry accidentally knocked into another boy's shoulder, they were ignored. No one even cast them a second glance.

"It's pitiful how much we let our guard down," Malfoy half-sneered, half-whispered as they boarded the train unnoticed.

Harry shot a reprimanding look in the direction of Malfoy's voice. "They thought they were safe at the time," he said.

"When are you going to quit making excuses for everything and everyone?" Malfoy sighed, causing Harry to aim a whack in his general direction, catching him on the shoulder. "Ouch! Okay, okay!" the blond hissed, and Harry heard him back away.

"Which compartment can we take?" Harry asked quietly. "The students will take up most, if not all, of them."

"The ones up front are always taken first, so we should avoid those," Malfoy suggested. The pair strode in unison until they reached the last compartment in line. "This should be fine."

Harry nodded in silent agreement and entered the little box. Malfoy followed right behind him, sliding the door shut. "How long do we have before we start moving?" the blond questioned, acting mildly impatient, and Harry heard him taking the seat opposite to his.

"Give it fifteen minutes," the brunet replied. "And pray no one gets this compartment."

"Drat," Malfoy swore. "It's a good thing we left early."

"See, I was right!" Harry exclaimed triumphantly, then softened when Malfoy didn't reply. "I'm sorry you didn't get enough of your damned rest. You have plenty of time for shut eyes now."

"Well I'm taking a nap," the Slytherin snapped, causing Harry to roll his eyes again at the sudden mood change – one second upset over the lack of security, the next pissed off at not having enough sleep. "It's going to take ages to get to Hogwarts anyway." With that, silence fell abruptly, and Harry could almost imagine Malfoy turning away and sliding down to take up the entire bench on his side of the compartment, folding his arms across his slim chest and shutting his navy-grey eyes.

The Gryffindor quickly shook himself. There was no need to wax poetic over Malfoy.

Harry slowly relaxed into his seat, about to rest, too, when he came to his senses. How could he have forgotten to lock their door? He really _had_ gotten soft and lost most of his reflexes. Sighing, he pulled out his wand and pointed it squarely at the compartment entrance. " _Colloportus_!" he said firmly, and the door sealed itself shut with an odd squelching noise that jogged his memory to less peaceful days. He raised his wand once more. " _Muffliato_!" he muttered, hoping the spell was every bit as effective as he remembered it.

Satisfied, with one loud exhalation, Harry, too, slipped leisurely back into suffocating drowsiness, shut his eyelids and fell away to sleep.

* * *

Draco groaned as he fell out of unconsciousness and felt his head smack against the hard wood of the bench he lay on. He shifted slightly, prying open his eyelids with great reluctance as he glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

The realization that he was on the Hogwarts Express with Potter crashed down on him suddenly, and he jerked upwards and into a sitting position, glancing across the compartment. Potter was lying there, sprawled somewhat neatly across the bench, eyes shut and arm over his forehead. For a second, Draco considered getting mad that their Disillusionment Charms had worn off, but the sight of a sleeping Potter was too much of a reward to give up.

Draco's eyes traveled the Gryffindor's frame, lingering on his face for longer than was necessary, drinking in all the little details – his long, dark eyelashes, his soft, red lips and the beautiful, peaceful countenance. For several moments, Draco indulged himself in the fantasy of him waking up next to Potter like this for the rest of his life. If that thought were only true, Draco would die happy.

Suddenly, a loud noise from the next compartment grabbed his attention. Inching forward towards the door and pressing his ear against it, Draco tried to find out what was going on.

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

Draco's eyes widened in half-horror at hearing the sound of his younger self's voice. He bit his lip to keep from letting out a gasp that would alert his past self of his presence in the supposedly empty compartment. He skidded away from the door, wishing he hadn't heard anything, but it was far from soundproof and he couldn't quite block out the conversation.

"Yes." Draco heard Potter's eleven-year-old self reply in a voice that would have been hilariously squeaky under any other circumstances.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Draco averted his eyes from the door at the sound of his younger voice. If he had known they would be seated right next to Potter's First Year self, he would have demanded an instant compartment change. Unfortunately, Potter was still fast asleep, only stirring mildly through the noise.

He heard the younger version of Weasley cough suddenly, prompting his old self to say with a definite cockiness in his voice, "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who _you_ are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."

Draco buried his face in his pale hands and shake his head, letting out a low whimper. He knew what was going to happen – he had replayed this same scene far too many times to count, twisting them around in his head, trying to figure out where he went wrong.

From the next compartment, little Draco said, "You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Draco turned away from the door completely, his shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping himself from wrenching the door open and yelling at his past self to stop that nonsense right away. He was just about to jeopardize the mission as well as his and Potter's safety by dashing out to warn his oblivious younger self, when the silent pause from the next compartment ended, and Draco felt his blood run cold at eleven-year-old Potter's smug words. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Potter squirmed and muttered something in his sleep, dragging Draco's attention back to him. He looked tired now, as if some snatches of conversation had reached his ears and entered his dreams. Draco was considering waking him up in case he started screaming bloody murder from a nightmare, when he heard Gregory's freakishly loud howl of pain from the next door. He paused, half rising from his seat. Had something gone wrong?

Ah, yes, that darned grey rat of Weasley's had done some permanent damage to Greg's knuckle. He nearly laughed at the thought and had to stifle his chuckles.

"What's going on?"

Draco turned to see Potter had been awakened by the cries, and was already sitting up and yawning rather indiscreetly. Despite himself, Draco felt a twitch of amusement at the Golden Boy's lack of grace, but caught himself just in time and hardened his expression. "Nothing, Potter. We're nearly there."

"I heard someone shout," Potter insisted, albeit sleepily. "Who was it?"

"Must've been Gregory," Draco replied coldly, leaving his words hanging in the air, waiting to see if Potter got the message.

"Goyle? Why would he be yelling?" Potter's brow furrowed, and Draco felt his heart sink – he didn't remember. Why would he? He was the fucking Chosen One, for Merlin's sake. One small, singular event like that would have meant nothing to him in the grand scheme of things.

Draco sat back down and crossed his arms lazily across his chest. "Maybe he's expressing his disgust at your terrible Disillusionment skills, Potter. You're lucky no one walked in on us."

Potter's emerald eyes went comically wide. "Sorry about that. I'll just…" Grabbing his wand, which had fallen on the floor at some point during his slumber, he waved it hastily, and Draco felt the familiar feeling of something cold trickling down his head and back as the charm took effect. Potter still hadn't done the same to himself, and asked a question instead. "How do you know we're close to Hogwarts?"

"I've been awake longer than you have," Draco replied stiffly, and spotted a confused look cross Potter's face before he, too, was Disillusioned. He knew he was puzzling Potter with his coldness, especially since they already had a sort of unspoken truce, but he couldn't help his annoyance at the other man's ignorance.

Nothing more was said as the train pulled to a stop, and Draco would be damned if he broke the silence, just in case Potter refused to reply. He had already been rejected by Potter once. There was no need to feel the same sting again.


	9. Visitation

It hadn't been easy, sneaking into Hogwarts – such a tedious process involved waiting impatiently until the students left the train, sneaking onto the only Thestral-drawn carriage that wasn't packed, and silently treading behind the eager pupils before slipping away towards Dumbledore's office – but eventually, they had done it. Harry felt a mixture of emotions at seeing Hogwarts in its brilliant, old glory – the time when it was still the safest place in the world, before everything came crumbling to the ground.

Still Disillusioned, Harry reached out to make sure Malfoy was still there. He brushed the Slytherin's shoulder and was greeted by a harsh snarl and an abrupt shift in direction. "Keep your hands to yourself, Potter," he snapped, and Harry nearly stopped in his tracks, bewildered. Malfoy was being particularly cold to him, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

As the pair climbed the stairs leading to their destination, a loud noise of collective singing started to echo over the halls and Harry heard Malfoy groan at the sound of the school song being hollered in different tones, times and melodies by the entire student body in the Great Hall behind them. Absentmindedly, Harry started to sing along.

"You can't be serious," Malfoy hissed as Harry enunciated the lines to the tune of an Aerosmith song.

"Come on, where's your school spirit?" Harry grinned in reply. "Pick your favourite tune and sing with me!" He knew he didn't have a particularly good voice, but it was fun to irritate Malfoy anyway.

"We're supposed to be keeping _quiet_ ," Malfoy sighed, but Harry ignored him and went on singing, and after a few seconds Harry was delighted to hear a reluctant sort of humming from the invisible Slytherin, to the melody of a popular wizard rock song. To his surprise, he realized that Malfoy could sing…and sing very well, at that. Harry found himself inching closer and closer to the sound of that beautiful voice until his shoulder brushed Malfoy's. This time, Malfoy did not draw away.

The song eventually ended and the pair reached the front of Dumbledore's office. They'd have to wait until after the feast to speak with him, but it wouldn't be too long and they didn't have much of a choice anyway.

"You have a nice voice," Harry praised, hoping the compliment wouldn't scare his companion away.

There was a short silence before a strained "Thanks, Potter," was muttered. Harry felt the heat rise to his face and was immensely grateful for his Disillusioned state.

"Really, though," he added, in an attempt to change the subject. "The Weird Sisters?"

"Shut up, Potter."

And he did.

* * *

Fortunately, the hour did not pass in complete silence. Potter felt compelled to bring up random subjects and to be honest, Draco didn't mind the conversation. He loathed to say he was actually enjoying himself. It probably helped that Draco couldn't see him and was unable to get lost in those damned emerald eyes – although it was only too easy to become mesmerized with the sensual, cautious voice.

Despite the fact that he was still slightly peeved about Potter's lack of memory of their first encounter, Draco easily lost track of time in their teasing banter, and it seemed too soon when the familiar frame of the headmaster came around the corner. Dumbledore paused in front of his office, as though detecting their presence, and looked around. At the sight of the old, weathered face, Draco felt a stab of guilt rush through his body as he recalled his (failed) mission in sixth year.

"Professor," Potter's voice said from his left, and Draco was glad the Gryffindor had spoken because _he_ certainly couldn't, not with his throat constricted by remorse. "Professor, we need to talk to you."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised only a fraction before he nodded once. "Sherbet Lemon," he said quietly, and the gargoyle's in front of his office sprang to life. Draco hadn't been in the headmaster's office many times, perhaps just once or twice, but had never paid much attention to the passwords and nearly choked on an onslaught of laughter. He felt Potter whack his shoulder and obediently fell to silence.

Once inside, Draco had little time to reacquaint himself with the interior before Potter was speaking again. "Professor, we've got ourselves into a…err…bad situation, and we were hoping you had a solution to our problems."

"Yes, perhaps," the headmaster said. "But it would be much better if I knew who I was speaking to."

Draco nearly slapped his forehead in exasperation at Potter's stupidity, which he _did not_ find adorable _at all_ , as said Gryffindor spluttered an apology and lifted the Disillusionment charms. This time, Dumbledore's surprise was more evident, whether at seeing two future versions of his own students, or at seeing both Potter and Draco within the same square footage and not hexing each other, Draco didn't know. Whatever the case, Dumbledore stood there quietly for a few moments, as though evaluating the situation, before speaking. "Ah. Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," he said thoughtfully. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Draco glanced at Potter expectantly. If the raven-haired man thought Draco would do the explaining, he was definitely out of his mind. Thankfully, Potter launched into the story with relative ease, although he fumbled over some words and Draco was able to read each emotion written on the lines on his face without much effort. Then again, that could have been because Draco couldn't bring himself to look the headmaster in the eye and resorted to watching Potter intently instead. Unfortunately, that resulted in a lapse of concentration due to the utter beauty of the other man, and so much so that Draco was afraid Dumbledore would notice and bring it up. Luckily, although the headmaster did glance at him curiously a few times, he did not mention it.

When Potter was done with his haphazard explanation, Dumbledore seated himself and motioned for them to do the same. Draco did, hesitantly, and reluctant because from this angle it would be too obviously rude if he did not at least look in the headmaster's direction.

"I understand that you require a way back into your time," Dumbledore said quietly. He did not comment on the questionable moral behind Potter's mission to save the Weaselette's life, much to Draco's disappointment. He currently wanted nothing more than to go to his house and sleep it all off on a proper bed, the mission be damned.

However, before the wise old headmaster could resume his musings, there was a knock at the door and he stood up. "I'm afraid I have an appointment I must attend to. You're welcome to wait outside for me. Do not worry about disguising yourself."

Draco stood up faster than was necessary, and led the way to the door, which he opened without hesitation, forgetting that there was someone on the other side, and instantly collided with the person standing there. He hurriedly righted himself, ready to offer the casual "excuse me" when he realized who he had bumped in to. Potter stiffened beside him and backed up a step.

"Oh dear me, I didn't see you there! Please do forgive me, I do apologize! Here, have a signed photograph as compensation…I do believe I have one somewhere in here!"

Fuck. Just who they needed to see.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

"It's quite alright, we don't want one," Draco replied coldly, but Lockhart was not fazed.

"No need to be like that, I assure you, it's no trouble at all, I can always spare a moment for my fans," Lockhart replied, laughing as he drew out a couple of slick pictures from his robes.

"We aren't fans," Potter said icily, but drawing attention to himself seemed to have been a wrong move, as Lockhart turned to him and his eyes widened visibly.

"Well, I never – Harry Potter!" he exclaimed, and both Draco and Potter winced at the loudness of his voice. " _Such_ a pleasure…come, come, this is a fine moment! But you do seem…a lot older than you should be…"

Draco was quite ready to grab Potter's wand and hex the gushing man into oblivion when Dumbledore stepped in. "Excuse me, Gilderoy, these two wizards have had some time-travel problems that I need to resolve. I trust you will keep this to yourself." His voice was stern, but again, Lockhart barely noticed.

"Of course, of course, I shall treat this with the upmost secrecy!" Lockhart exclaimed, and Draco felt a flash of impatience run through him as he struggled to get a reign on his frustration. "I do recall a case quite like this one – an entire family got their hands on a faulty Time-Turner and ended up stranded in 23 AD!" He waved a hand flamboyantly and Draco nearly barfed. "If not for my quick thinking and fast spells, they would have never gotten back alive!"

"Yeah," Potter said, and Draco glanced over at him, his heart instantly going aflutter at the somewhat sexy smirk on the brunet's lips. "Look, if it's alright by you, we'll be going."

"No need my approval, Harry, it's quite alright," Lockhart replied enthusiastically. "In fact, the least I can do for you now is fix up that Time-Turner of yours. I have plenty of experience in this, and it's really no trouble at all."

"No!" Gryffindor and Slytherin voices united for probably the first time in history as both Draco and his companion backed away in unison.

"Really, no trouble at all, and it's the least I can do..." Before either blond nor brunet could protest, he reached out and snatched the chain hanging from Draco's neck, who nearly retaliated, but instead settled for letting out a rather animalistic snarl that did not bother the celebrity in the least.

To Draco's surprise, however, he was saved from further embarrassment as Harry said coldly, "Drop it, Gilderoy." This time, Lockhart could not ignore a request – no, an _order_ – from the Chosen One, and he somewhat reluctantly released the magical object from his grasp.

"It's your call, my boy, but I would really love to help," Lockhart said shortly, sounding a little disgruntled but still appearing cheerful. "If I could solve your case I could quite possibly gain a position hear at Hogwarts."

"As I have said time and time again, Mr Lockhart," began Dumbledore patiently, "even though I would value your expertise and wide range of experience here at Hogwarts, all teaching positions are currently filled."

"Of course, of course, but you can't blame a man for trying, dear sir," Lockhart replied, sinking into a bow that somehow managed to be more arrogant than self-deprecating. "Perhaps if you'd be so kind as to give me a chance, Harry," he added, turning to Potter and instantly infuriating Draco. "I'm sure it would help me win a job if I was able to be of some assistance, as long as Albus here approves."

Draco cast a silent pleading glance at Dumbledore, who either didn't notice it or just didn't care, because he nodded once.

Lockhart was positively beaming now. "Excellent! Now, Harry, if you'd –"

"Hang on a second," Potter said firmly, almost as if talking to a child, which was understandable considering what Lockhart would become in a little over a year. "This isn't _my_ Time-Turner, it's _Draco's_ , so I suggest you ask him about it."

In an instant, the blood had collected in Draco's cheeks and was pumping a little more quickly than normal – well, if his heart rate whenever he was around that damned _Potter_ could be considered normal. Potter had called him by his _first name_. It was a strange circumstance for Potter to say it for the first time, and a part of Draco knew Potter had done it mainly to intimidate Lockhart, but his heart was fluttering too hard for his brain to properly function.

Lockhart sobered slightly, clearly reluctant as he turned to Draco and held out his hand. "If I may," he said.

Draco nodded stiffly, allowing Lockhart to reach for the Time-Turner hanging limply around his neck, but the movement made him feel vulnerable and he had to clench his teeth to prevent from pulling away.

"Wait," Potter said suddenly, and the future mental patient dropped the chain again. Draco turned to him quizzically, wondering exactly what the man was planning to do and about to question it, when Potter did the unthinkable – he reached out for the lock of the chain behind Draco's neck.

Draco froze instinctively, parts of him wanting to punch Potter in the face and break his nose and other parts wanting to lean into the touch. Ignoring both urges, he stepped backwards and away from Potter's tanned fingers, but the Gryffindor's unguarded green eyes glanced quickly up into his own. There was a question there, a silent plea for something, and Draco read it instantly – Potter was asking for his _trust_.

Barely able to repress a shiver at the intensity he saw in the other man's emerald eyes, Draco nodded, and Potter's hands slithered back around his neck. This time Draco couldn't stop his shudder, and the brunet stopped in surprise before resuming and gently unclasping the chain from around Draco's neck.

Potter removed the Time-Turner and stepped up to Lockhart. "No charms, Gilderoy," he said firmly. "No wand-waving. You will not attempt any form of magic on this Time-Turner. That's what got us into this situation in the first place."

Lockhart nodded. "Of course, of course, I would never dream of it, I _am_ rather well-versed in this matter, I assure you…" He observed the object in Potter's hand curiously and carefully, and Draco suppressed a sneer at the sight of the celebrity being put in his place. It appeared Potter had somewhat learned to stand up for himself over the years, a fact which certainly _did not_ turn Draco on. Not in the least bit. At all.

"Ah! I see what the problem is, Harry, no doubt I could fix it if you allowed me!" Lockhart exclaimed so suddenly that everyone in the room jumped slightly. "Here, it's right there…" With a fluid movement, he reached into his pocket.

Draco saw Lockhart raise his wand, and his heart leaped into his mouth when he remembered the terrible lack of skill and magical abilities that the man had. The only thing he could think about was the fact that the wand was aimed at _Potter._ Lockhart muttered something incoherent, and his wand started to sprout sparks.

In an instant, Draco's instinct took over him, and he dived in front of the blast, shoving Potter out of the way. The spell collided with him painfully as Potter let out a yell, and Draco was blown backwards, unfortunately dragging Potter down with him. Everything seemed to happen at once as the room filled with unintelligible noise – Lockhart's brief assurance that the charm he cast was working, a rare exclamation of alarm from Dumbledore, Potter's shouts and the crash of peculiar objects falling as he fell into them.

Then there was silence, and neither Slytherin nor Gryffindor heard any more.


	10. Distance

_Lockhart._ _I bloody hate Lockhart._

That was the first coherent thought Harry had as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He was mildly disoriented, and still very confused as to what had just happened. He was sure Lockhart had broken the brief agreement involving no bloody wandwork or charm-casting, but then again the celebrity was never famous for being a good listener.

Sitting up slowly, Harry tried to make sense of his surroundings. He appeared to be lying on solid ground, but his head was spinning and everything around him was unclear and blurry. There were echoes of people's voices travelling over him, and Harry wondered vaguely if he could be seen, spread-eagled and only half-awake, by a lot of people.

Pain suddenly shot up Harry's already weak frame as he tried to stand up. It felt like he had been hit repeatedly with some form of a Stinging Hex, or with a _Reducto,_ perhaps even a _Crucio_ – or, in Lockhart's case, an accidental combination of all three. His right fist ached, and was closed tightly in a firm grasp, gripping the Time-Turner securely in his fingers.

What had occurred? The last thing he could remember was Lockhart raising his wand, and a feeling of cold dread and fear sweeping over him as the realization that he would probably be severely physically and/or mentally injured if he got hit by anything issuing from said wand dropped into his stomach. He also remembered someone leaping in front of him and taking the blast full on…

 _Malfoy!_ Where was Malfoy? In a whirl of panic, Harry leaped to his feet, forgetting his dizziness and bleary vision, struggling against the limitations of his headache, straining to find him even as a shocking amount of fiery pain rushed through his body. "Malfoy!" Harry yelled, looking around. " _Malfoy!_ " But there was no reply. Where was the slimy git?

Distraught, Harry finally managed to take in his surroundings and was hit by an odd wave of nostalgia as he recognized the Gryffindor Quidditch locker room. There were robes hanging on hooks and draped over the benches, meaning there was a game on today. Harry vaguely hoped that Lockhart's spell had worked and he was back in his own time, but the rational part of him knew that wasn't the case. In fact, if he were to base it on his rotten luck, his past self would probably be out there chasing the Snitch today.

"Malfoy," he tried one last time, before resigning himself to his fate, but worry started to wrack his brain when he remembered that wherever the blond was, he didn't have a wand. Guilt shivered slowly through him. Malfoy had practically saved his life, and Harry hadn't even done anything but get them into trouble. He knew he should never have trusted Lockhart.

With a last cursory glance around the familiar room, Harry Disillusioned himself once more, dropped the Time-Turner into his pocket, and opened the front door. Instantly, the sounds of cheering and the loud, younger voice of Lee Jordan boomed towards him over the grounds. Raindrops pelted menacingly down at him as Lee announced, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero..."

Harry winced at that phrase – old habits die hard, and he would still never cheer for Slytherin, despite the sixty point lead they were enjoying. Hurrying over to the Quidditch field, Harry climbed up onto the back of the Gryffindor stands, squinting as he tried to make out who was playing – maybe he could get an idea of which time he was in.

Then he saw himself, his younger self, dashing by on that fantastic Nimbus 2000. Was it possible that he was still in the same time that he had been when Lockhart sent that spell his way?

And then a Bludger pelted after his younger form, zipping faster than he remembered. His heart sank when he realized the Bludger was trained on that past self of his, as if spelled to chase after him and him alone.

Dobby's rogue Bludger. It was his second year. He had travelled in time and lost Malfoy.

" _Fuck_ ," Harry swore softly to himself, the sound of his voice unheard over the cheers of the crowd and the rush of the rain. And they had been so sure that Time-Turners couldn't take anyone forward in time! Of course, Lockhart's badly-timed spell probably had something to do with the magical object's newfound abilities.

Harry paused in his musings, contemplating his next move, as Oliver Wood called a time-out. This wasn't good, it wasn't good at all, and Harry could feel himself starting to panic. He was alone, a Time-Turner that didn't even belong to him resting heavily in the pocket of his pants, and he was clueless. He couldn't possibly survive this without Malfoy.

 _Speaking of Malfoy_ , Harry thought bitterly as the game started again and he caught sight of a twelve-year-old platinum blond swaggering on his broomstick (was that even possible?) in a corner of the field. The git looked very pleased with himself, probably because the past Harry was starting to do a succession of stupid-looking spins, climbs and rolls to avoid getting his head bashed in by a certain charmed Bludger. Harry half-considered destroying the Bludger, but it would probably reveal his location, plus it was more than a little hard to aim a wand at a speeding black ball of death.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" a little Malfoy yelled, and Harry found it ironic how someone so small and adorable-looking in his youth could possibly be such an annoying prick. Not that he wasn't adorable in the future...no. Of course he wasn't even remotely cute in the future. No bloody way.

He pushed the thought out of his mind just as the Snitch appeared by Malfoy's left ear. Harry held his breath as his past self stopped almost directly in front of him, shocked by the sight of the golden, winged ball, but oblivious to the Bludger that was speeding towards him. Harry grit his teeth, anticipating the pain his past self was about to endure when the Bludger eventually hit his arm. He drew his wand subconsciously, trying to stop himself from preventing the inevitable. It was just a broken arm and a night of Skele-Grow, and not nearly as bad as facing Tom Riddle head on. Merlin knew his past self could do with some character-building exercises before facing Voldemort.

But that was the thing. The Bludger wasn't aiming for his arm. It was aiming for his _head_.

 _That isn't supposed to happen_. Harry started to panic. He was _sure_ it had just been his arm, right?

But there was no doubting it. The Bludger was indeed rushing at Harry's smaller frame as it was supposed to, but it was trained on smashing his skull and killing the Boy Who Lived.

In a flash, Harry pointed his wand at the Bludger, not caring that Malfoy would _kill_ him if he knew. If Harry didn't act now, there might not _be_ a Harry Potter in the future.

" _Reducto!_ " Harry hissed, but he missed his target by a few inches (damn it, he really should have paid attention to Ginny and _practiced_ ), and the spell did nothing but sway the Bludger slightly. It was enough, however, to skew the speeding ball's aim. In a split second, it connected with Harry's past self's arm, just as he dashed forwards for the Snitch.

The Harry in the stands lowered his wand, shaking. What would have happened if he hadn't been here? Would someone else have saved him? Who had saved him last time, or had his past and future already been altered by something Malfoy was doing back in Dumbledore's office with Lockhart, one year ago?

Wait. That's it! Malfoy was in the past, wasn't he? And Harry had the Time-Turner – all Harry had to do now was turn it back a few times to go back to him, right? But what if the Time-Turner had been damaged by Lockhart's spell, permanently?

 _I suppose just one turn wouldn't hurt_ , Harry reasoned. Yes, he would try it out by turning it once – he'd only move an hour, anyway, if it worked, and he could go from there. He was about to pick the magical object up when the sound of cheering caused him to raise his head – his past self had caught the Snitch, but Harry knew what came next. In a matter of seconds, twelve-year-old Harry went careening towards the earth, and the older Harry winced, feeling strange and powerless as he watched himself crash into the solid ground. Unable to watch, he glanced up and away, and his gaze was caught by the younger Malfoy.

Harry froze as he realized that the second-year blond had started to zoom down to where Harry lay, unconscious, with an expression almost like worry on his face, before stopping suddenly and drawing back up. Harry's jaw dropped as Malfoy sped away, looking terribly guilty. Had he really seen the past Malfoy expressing…concern for him?

He shook himself violently. He _had_ to have been hallucinating. Malfoy would never, not in the past and probably not ever in the future, be anxious about him. Ever. He refused to even remotely consider the possibility…even if it _did_ make him oddly hopeful.

No. He would never wish for Malfoy to give more than two shits about him, because that would never happen. With his brain in check, Harry grasped the Time-Turner and spun it once.

The last thought that Harry had as the world disappeared around him was that Malfoy probably didn't even care where he was now.

* * *

" _Where the fuck is he?_ " Draco screamed. Lockhart winced at his harsh tone, and Dumbledore was watching him closely, but he didn't care – he was in a frantic whirl, his mind was in a mess, and furious didn't even begin to describe the rage he was going through. His body was alight with pain from the spell Lockhart had cast – whatever it was, it sent fire shooting through his veins with every step he took – and Potter had simply evaporated on the spot.

"If I'm correct, then he should have been sent back to his time," Lockhart said with a furrowed brow, not sounding even remotely worried.

Draco's blood boiled at the man's uncaring attitude. "No he fucking well hasn't been, and you damn well know it!" Draco heard himself shout as he tried to ease the ache resounding across his flesh by standing still and leaning against the wall. It didn't help.

"Now, now, you can't seriously be questioning my abilities, Mr. Malfoy," Lockhart replied, suddenly sounding very cheerful.

"Of course I can! You're bloody incompetent!" Draco spat, rubbing his skin where it felt like it was in flames.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore warned, "Mr. Lockhart is a man of experience, as I'm sure you remember well from your youth, even if he has failed to play a part in your future."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. That's right – no one here knew that Lockhart was a fraud yet. And risking altering the future by telling Dumbledore about it was probably not a good idea. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to calm down. Panicking would not help them get Potter back, but then again, what would?

"For fuck's sake," Draco swore, grabbing Lockhart's arm with more force than necessary. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore began again, but Lockhart cut him off with a cheerful little wave.

"No problem at all, Albus, old friend, perhaps the man is just a little ashamed of wanting an autograph…"

Draco let out a low growl in his throat, restraining himself from attempting a wandless _Crucio_ as he tugged Lockhart towards the exit.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore repeated, "But as you can see, I am as involved in this as you are."

Draco sighed, dropping Lockhart's arm and spinning to face the headmaster. "Then do you have any idea what to do about this, sir?" he snapped, wincing at the formality – it was a habit. And as mentioned several times, old habits die hard.

"The question, Mr. Malfoy, is what 'this' is," the headmaster said gravely.

"What 'this' is?" Draco cried, incredulous. "Well what the fuck does it bloody look like? Potter's gone, and we don't know where he is, and he could be anywhere in any time because this bloody _crackpot_ here can't get a simple spell right, and I've got to find him before something happens to him!" He stopped, afraid he'd said too much, and looked away, flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"Don't tell me you've actually come to care for Harry?" Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow.

The denial was on the tip of Draco's tongue, but it wouldn't come out. It refused to leave his lips, and he was stuck scowling at the floor and chewing his lower lip.

"Despite all the rivalry, all the hatred?" The headmaster had left his corner of the room and came over to stand in front of Draco, who backed away, unnerved by his the lack of distance between him and the man he would eventually cause the death of.

"It was never real!" he blurted, in his desperation to keep the aged man away from him. "I never hated him!"

Dumbledore's eyes widened a fraction. "Ah," he said simply, then turned towards Lockhart. "Gilderoy, I trust you will keep this little incident to yourself. We will continue our meeting at another…more appropriate time."

Lockhart, for once, did not argue, merely giving that arrogant mock-bow once more before exiting the office.

Draco and Dumbledore stood, now at great distance from each other, and a deafening silence fell over them as the blond refused to cast even a cursory glance in the headmaster's immediate direction.

Finally, the older man broke the still quiet with a soft declaration, "It took you both long enough." Then, he smiled, and Draco looked at him in surprise.

"Sir?" he asked cautiously.

The headmaster acted quite as if he had not heard Draco. "Stay the night," Dumbledore said, instead of elaborating. "We will sort all of this out tomorrow. Now, now, Mr. Malfoy," he added as Draco showed signs of protesting, "You are in no fit state to be of much use to Harry right now. I will conduct my own investigations. I trust you know which one of the teacher's dorms is unused. Make yourself look as inconspicuous as possible, but I doubt you need fret about being spotted by your past self – I suspect he will be too busy moping about not gaining a certain Gryffindor's friendship on the train." Draco gaped, speechless, as Dumbledore winked. "Goodnight." With that, he turned and walked back to sit behind his desk, leaving no room for argument.

Draco sighed, reluctantly turning and leaving the office as he wondered how much the old man knew about Potter's refusal to be his friend. It still stung, and it hurt his already scarred heart that the brunet seemed to bear no recollection of his ever rejecting Draco. But there would be plenty of time to fret over that later. Now, he needed rest, and sleep. If he could sleep while fretting over Potter, that is. He bet his last Galleon that Potter didn't even care where he was now.

* * *

"Where the fuck are you, Malfoy?" Harry hissed as he glanced around. That one turn of the Time-Turner had gotten him nowhere nearer to his destination – in fact, unless he was mistaken, he had been taken forward one year in time instead of backwards one hour. It was mainly the Dementors that clued him in – they had been drifting nonchalantly around the school gates when he arrived, breathing their cold breaths down his neck as they sensed his presence (he fixed that with a quick Patronus). He was currently hiding just within the gates of Hogwarts, wondering how in the name of Merlin he had gotten from the Quidditch pitch to here. That damned messed-up spell of Lockhart's must have damaged it.

He checked to make sure that he was still Disillusioned as students passed by him, filing in an organized sort of chaos. It must be the first day of school, he reasoned, as they chattered nonsensically about holidays and boredom…and Sirius Black. Harry swallowed noisily as he caught the name of his Godfather on a few gossiping lips. He didn't have time to be haunted by ghosts of his past now, especially since he was lost, alone and in desperate need of the assistance of a certain blond Slytherin.

Harry backed away, double checking his Disillusionment charm, as he recognized his past self, as well as Ron and Hermione, entering the gates and walking up to the entrance. He was contemplating following them when his attention was stolen by a question.

"What do you reckon happened to him?"

Harry turned as he heard a squeakier version of Neville Longbottom's voice come up behind him. He was chatting animatedly to Luna, who Harry hadn't met yet at the time, but was clearly already quite close to Neville.

"I think the Wrackspurts got him," Luna replied in her dreamy air, and Harry felt an odd pang of longing. Ever since she married Rolf Scamander, Harry hadn't seen head or tail of her, as it seemed the Ravenclaw had gone on many travels around the world. Rumour had it she was pregnant just about the time that Harry left his time to save Ginny, but he couldn't sure, and a lump formed in his throat as he regretted not making more of an effort to see her.

"I don't think Wrackspurts made Harry faint, Luna," Neville replied easily. "It must have been those Dementors. He got all weird when they came."

Harry flushed. Ah, yes, he had passed out after a rather unpleasant encounter with a particularly unpleasant Dementor. He didn't want reminding of that, so he turned to leave, but not before he heard another voice – this one, although still rather high-pitched, sounded much meaner and more arrogant.

"What was that? Potter fainted?" the younger version of Malfoy asked, and Harry groaned inwardly as he watched Malfoy grab Neville roughly by the arm.

"N-n-n-none of your business," Neville stuttered, and Harry rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to slap his forehead in frustration.

"Did he pass out? Is he getting sent to the hospital wing?" Malfoy demanded, and Harry raised an eyebrow, shocked at the spectacle going on before him. The Slytherin was…worried about him? It certainly appeared so – Malfoy's frown was uncharacteristic, his voice panicky and his overall manner seemed nervous.

Harry caught himself. This was the second time since being alone in the past that he had seen Malfoy express concern over him. What could that mean? He didn't want to think about it, so he rushed off without waiting for Neville's reply, instead catching up with his past self who was nearing the steps leading up to the castle.

Unfortunately, he wasn't free of Malfoy long enough, as the blond was suddenly running up to Harry's past self with Crabbe and Goyle at his sides, elbowing past Hermione and laughing, "You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?" His pale eyes glinted maliciously, in a way that was strangely comfortingly familiar.

Harry caught several expressions flitting past his thirteen-year-old self's face, most which he recognized from what he really had been experiencing at the time – embarrassment, humiliation, annoyance, indignance, a subtle and mild anger – but also something he was unnerved to see etched clearly in those more innocent eyes – hurt. He had been hurt by Malfoy's taunting.

He glanced back to the blond boy, disturbed by this revelation, and realized he could see some form of relief in those metallic grey eyes. Malfoy was...relieved that he was relatively unscathed?

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron said coldly, his jaw clenched.

"Did you faint as well, Weasley?" said Malfoy loudly. "Did the scary old Dementor frighten you too, Weasley?"

Unable to take any more, Harry took off into the entrance, refusing to hang back and listen to any more. This was all too complicated for him.

For heaven's sake. He needed Malfoy, desperately. Why had the idiot gone and taken the blast for him? When they snuck off the train, the Slytherin had been exceptionally cold to him, and then he had practically saved his life. That spell from Lockhart could have damn near killed both of them. Come to think of it, Harry didn't know if Malfoy was even...

No. He wouldn't go there, he wouldn't think of that. Malfoy had to have survived the blast – he had been with Dumbledore, hadn't he? Even if he had been...hurt...the headmaster would have been able to fix him up, right?

 _Fuck_. Why was he worrying so much about _Malfoy_? Surely the man meant nothing to him? Although the tense sort of friendship they had formed over the past month had indeed been something Harry valued, he certainly didn't care about the blond, right?

Sighing, confused, Harry made a turn and started climbing a rather underused staircase, inching towards the teachers' rooms. He knew exactly which ones would be empty this time of year, and his whole body was aching with exhaustion and hunger. He decided to make a quick stop by the kitchen and nick something off the counters. Although part of him wanted to find a way out of this as quickly as possible, he was in no fit state to do so. He still wondered about all the revelations he was getting from the past Malfoy, and his own past self, and why the future Malfoy had been so cold to him after he woke up on the train. But there would be plenty of time to fret over that later. Now, he needed rest, and sleep. If he could sleep while fretting over Malfoy, that is.


	11. Realisation

When Harry woke up, he knew instantly that something was wrong. Just the day before, he had fallen asleep in relatively warm weather with the Time-Turner fastened securely around his neck (it had felt strange at first, knowing it had probably spent months around Malfoy's, but he got used to it) in an unused teachers' dorm, and now, it wasn't only freezing cold – it was snowing. Sleet was hitting the windows in droves, and it was dark outside, which either meant it was very early morning, or possibly late at night.

Then he realized he wasn't lying on a bed anymore, but on cold, marble flooring at the end of a hallway, right under a window. Where the fuck was he? He sat up, glancing around, emerald eyes darting around madly.

It took a minute for Harry's groggy brain to register the events of yesterday. _Lockhart's damned spell_. It had done something to the Time-Turner, and Harry was now possibly in a different time altogether, perhaps several months after he had originally emerged. And he was at the end of the Hogwarts entrance hall. He could see a large crowd gathered at the entrance to the Great Hall far to the front and stood up hurriedly, immensely relieved that the Disillusionment charm had held through the night – or the seasons. He leaped to his feet, determined to find Dumbledore and request his help. If the headmaster remembered their brief encounter with Lockhart, he might be able to get himself out of this.

And then Harry saw himself, or his past self, at least, trooping down in bright, emerald green attire that enabled him to see his eyes from afar, trotting next to a very pretty girl in robes of shocking pink, and…

_Oh no oh no oh no._

Harry had somehow managed to get himself transported to the night of the Yule Ball. The night didn't hold too many fond memories for him, aside from sitting alone with Ron and then listening morosely as Ron and Hermione had a shouting match over Viktor Krum, of all people…

"Where is Hermione?" he heard Ron saying, and nearly choked as he saw the frayed state of the redhead's horrible maroon dress robes. Standing next to him, Padma Patil looked very pretty, but also very disappointed and uneasy, clearly having second thoughts about her date. Ah, to reminisce…

Harry heard a giggle from his left and turned to see a group of Slytherins coming up the from the dungeon common room. He stifled a disgruntled sigh – did he really need to see any more of the unhelpful younger version of the man he sorely needed (and sort of missed, but he would never admit that out loud)? Sadly, despite his inner protests, a fourteen-year-old Malfoy did indeed ascend the steps in black velvet dress robes which Harry distinctly remembered for some strange reason, his arm occupied by Pansy Parkinson, who was sporting that disgustingly frilly dress that he also recalled quite clearly. It disturbed him how he wanted to laugh at the whole situation – although he remembered Malfoy looking like a vicar with that high collar, the blond was probably the best dressed male fourth-year of the whole Hogwarts lot, simply because every other boy was in awkward robes a few sizes off.

As the Durmstrang students marched in, Harry diverted his attention back to his past self, who was watching the succession led by Karkaroff. He smiled at the sight of Hermione walking nervously next to Krum. She still looked incredibly beautiful, and completely unrecognizable, in those periwinkle-blue robes.

"Champions over here, please!" McGonagall called, and Harry watched himself walk forwards with Parvati as the rest of the students slowly filed into the Great Hall. Inadvertently, his gaze was caught, once again, by Malfoy, who was eying the younger Harry and his date with something like disgust before averting his platinum-grey eyes to Hermione, then looking away. Harry snickered quietly to himself – even Malfoy couldn't find an insult to shoot at her.

Laughing silently, Harry followed the blond, unwilling to stay behind. Plus, he had to admit it would be rather interesting to see just how awkward he looked making a grand entrance to the Great Hall from a spectators point of view, seeing as he rarely ever did that – usually, he was part of the action. This could prove entertaining – he could always find Dumbledore later.

Harry picked an empty seat that just so happened to be right next to where Malfoy was sitting and trained his eyes on the Great Hall's entrance. It also just so happened that from his seat, he had a clear view of Ron and Padma, which made him bite his lip to prevent himself from breaking out into laughter. Ron certainly looked dreadful and nothing compared to the girl in turquoise robes sitting beside him with a disgruntled expression.

Applause started to break out and Harry turned his attention back to the champions and their dates, who were now entering in pairs. Krum and Hermione came in first, and Harry caught Ron glaring at her with narrowed eyes filled with jealousy. He rolled his eyes at that – at least in the end Ron had grown a pair, got her to be his girlfriend, and then married her.

His past self was the last one in line, and Harry supposed that perhaps he didn't look all that bad – at least he was half-decent, and the colour of his plain dress robes _did_ bring out his eyes, as Mrs. Weasley said – but he didn't feel like watching himself anymore, especially because he knew that Parvati was the one steering him, so he turned to glance at the younger Malfoy beside him. He was shocked to see that the blond was glaring at Harry and his date with an expression that quite resembled Ron's.

This was another revelation that Harry was unprepared for. Why was Malfoy looking at them like that, with his lip curled in rage, his steely slate-grey eyes unwavering in their angry gaze? Was it possible that he was _jealous_ , too? That had to be the case – Harry had seen that expression etched on Ron and Hermione's faces too often over their years at Hogwarts to not recognize envy when he saw it. But what could the Slytherin possibly be jealous about? Was he simply, as usual, craving the attention Harry had? Or did he – somehow inconceivably – have a thing for Parvati at the time, or could he be wishing that his date looked like that? It seemed unlikely, thought Harry to himself. Sure, Parvati looked positively radiant that night, and she and Pansy did go back a bit, but would Malfoy really stoop to that level? And...wasn't he supposed to be gay?

And then, just like that, it hit Harry.

_No. No way._

The probability of this was zero. He knew that, didn't he? After all, Malfoy had _hated_ him, had taunted and bullied him for years. There was no way Malfoy would have done that if he'd _liked_ Harry, right? Especially after the way Harry blew him off on the train during their first encounter – surely Malfoy's ego would never recover enough from that, especially seeing as his "bodyguard" Goyle had nearly gotten his knuckle gnawed off…

And then it hit Harry again.

 _Shit!_ On the train, Harry had been awoken by Goyle screaming, which had been a mark of Harry rejecting Malfoy, and Harry _hadn't remembered_. That was why Malfoy had been so bloody cold to him after he woke up – it wasn't just another mood swing, Harry had _hurt_ the stupid git's feelings.

That was it. Harry had to fix things, and he had to fix things now, Yule Ball be damned.

There was an empty seat on Dumbledore's left at the head table, recently vacated by Madame Maxime. Harry knew from memory that she would soon be back, and quickly he rushed up toward the chair, taking care not to trip over his own feet. Undetected, he sidled into said seat, and in an instant he saw Dumbledore tense, aware of a foreign presence.

"Sir?" Harry whispered, and he could have sworn the headmaster nearly dropped his fork. "Sir, it's me, Harry. I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm still in that same…err…bad situation."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched at that. "See me in my office when the dancing begins, Harry. And don't be late."

Harry nodded, then realized he couldn't be seen, but the headmaster didn't seem to require a response, so he rushed out of the chair just as Madame Maxime came trotting back. He then proceeded to dash through the tables, hurrying towards the marvellous oak door of the Great Hall, but before he could, someone caught his eye.

It was Ginny, an innocent, thirteen-year-old Ginny, seated comfortably next to a still-awkward Neville, and her eyes were fixed unabashedly on Harry's past self, watching his every move as he sat next to Percy at another table. At this, Harry couldn't help but inhale sharply, feeling a familiar guilt stab at him, guilt at keeping up a lie for so long. She was so beautiful, he mused, for the millionth time. She deserved better.

What was he doing? Harry couldn't help but wonder. He contemplated going to her, but then he heard rude laughter from the Slytherins and his gaze shifted back to them. No. He had to stay focused, he had to tear himself from her. There were some things that couldn't be fixed now – before he could save Ginny, he had to be able to get to his own time, and to do that, he needed the help of a certain Slytherin, a Slytherin he had been oblivious to, one who could probably save him from all this, and from himself...

At the memory of the newly formed bond between them that he could have ruined between him all because of his own carelessness, Harry found himself racing up the stairs towards the headmaster's office at light speed. He would not waste one moment, every single one was precious, he would fix this as soon as he could, because for a reason that he could not fathom, this strained, somewhat reluctant comradeship meant a lot to him.

He waited outside of the gargoyles, pacing uncontrollably, mind racing, for about half an hour before he heard The Weird Sisters start up a song. When the song ended, Harry honestly couldn't take it anymore and was just about to hex something when Dumbledore came up, looking perfectly calm.

"Sir!" Harry nearly cried in relief. "I need to get back to Draco _now._ What happened to him? Was he alright after I left?"

Dumbledore smiled knowingly in the direction of Harry's voice. "Oh, it's Draco now, is it?"

Harry flushed, shutting his mouth. He hadn't even realized he'd said it. Before, with Lockhart, it was intentional, but it certainly wasn't now.

"In my opinion, it took you long enough." Before Harry could ask what he meant, the headmaster declared, "Pardon me, I mean you no offense, Harry, but again, it would be much easier for me if I could see you."

Harry nearly died from embarrassment as he swished his wand over himself once, removing the charm. "Sir, I've made a terrible mistake and I need to fix it with Dra...with Malfoy," Harry said, correcting himself. "Please, tell me he was alright."

"He was fine, Harry," Dumbledore assured him. "There is no need for us to enter my office, as I've been waiting for you to turn up for years." He smiled, bemused, at Harry's expression of puzzlement, before drawing his wand and holding a hand out. "The Time-Turner, if you will."

"But, sir, magic-" began Harry, but he was cut off.

"I studied and researched for years to find the remedy to the damage Gilderoy performed," the headmaster said by means of explanation. "And I assure you that, unlike him, I know exactly what I am doing."

Harry furrowed his brow, but nodded as he lifted the Time-Turner, still fastened securely around his neck, and held it out to Dumbledore, who whispered a long, eerie incantation. When he was done, a small light formed around the Time-Turner, and then it lay still.

The brunet lifted his eyes to stare at the headmaster. "Sir?" he asked cautiously. He had been so sure that something would happen, but nothing did. What if Dumbledore had gotten it wrong?

"Well, go on, Harry, what are you waiting for?" the grey-haired man smiled, waving a dismissive hand. "One turn will take you back to approximately where – and _when_ – you were the last time."

Harry stared down at the Time-Turner, readying himself. He didn't know what to say or what to do. Frankly, he was always a little awkward when it came to apologizing, and it would be even harder now, considering Malfoy probably still had feelings for him, and Harry was still straight as a broomstick…right?

"Come now, Harry, before I die of old age," Dumbledore chided, and Harry had to grin.

"Don't wait up, sir," Harry told him, as another song playing in the Great Hall ended. "You don't want to miss your dance with Professor Sprout."

"Professor Sprout?" Dumbledore repeated, amused. "Actually, that _does_ sound like a good idea, Harry. Thank you." He wheeled around to go back to the Great Hall.

"Sir," Harry said quietly, suddenly, and the old man turned back to look at him. "Sir, will everything turn out alright when I return?"

Dumbledore smiled, a familiar twinkle coming into his eyes and dancing behind his half-moon spectacles. "I can hardly tell you, Harry. Where would the fun in that be?" And with that, the great headmaster turned and walked away.

Harry watched him leave, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. Somehow, he didn't feel _ready_ to face Dra-Malfoy again, and he didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the strange new _feeling_ growing inside of him, one that he didn't quite recognize. He was certain, now, that he cared about the blond, but that was really all he was sure of as of now. He didn't know how to react or feel about the fact that Dra-Malfoy might still harbour feelings for him. And he definitely didn't know if Dra-Mal-oh for fuck's sake. Did it really matter what he called him? Frustrated with himself, Harry groaned, sinking to the floor as he thought it over, glad that Dumbledore wasn't there to witness his mental breakdown.

All that Harry really knew for sure was that he had learned and understood so much more about Draco in these few hours than he ever had in the past one and a half decades. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Standing up, gritting his teeth in what could only be described as unwavering Gryffindor determination, Harry held the Time-Turner up between his hands, and turned.

* * *

Draco waited patiently as the greatest headmaster of Hogwarts paced before him, deep in thought. Spending the night unarmed and vulnerable in an empty room hadn't provided him with particularly good sleep, especially since he was haunted by dreams of Potter's eyes, and his stupid messed up hair, and the firmness of his strong arms when he held Draco as he cried, and the feel of his muscles beneath Draco's hands when he massaged his shoulders…

"I believe the Time-Turner in Harry's possession may have been…damaged," Dumbledore spoke suddenly, thankfully breaking the Slytherin's daydreams, which were quickly leading to arousal. "He may have tried to get back to this time with it, but I fear it has only taken him farther away."

"I am aware," Draco replied, his voice sounding colder than he'd meant it to, but it was true. He had done a lot of thinking to distract himself from worrying over a particular Chosen One, and had drawn pretty much the same conclusion as the headmaster. "My only fear, although irrational, is that the Time-Turner has taken him to the future, not the past."

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk, motioning for Draco to take a seat in front of him. Draco did so in what he hoped was a businesslike manner.

"It is rare, but not unheard of, for a magical object's functionality to be tainted by flimsy magic," the headmaster declared. "But in Gilderoy's case, I can only hope that Harry has been sent back to his own time, and has not wasted his efforts trying to get back to you."

"That hope is futile," Draco replied, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Dumbledore looked at him with interested curiousity, but Draco did not elaborate. "And you believe this because?"

Draco exhaled loudly. "Let's just say that in the future, Lockhart isn't particularly renowned for his skills involving time-travel." _Or anything else._

"I see," was the reply he received for that, as the headmaster regarded him thoughtfully. "Do you want to go after him?"

"Yes," Draco said, clenching his jaw.

"It's a life-threatening mission, Draco," Dumbledore said gently. "You may want to reconsider risking your life for –"

"I don't fucking care," spat Draco, "about risking my bloody life. I would _die_ for Potter." He stopped, mortified that he had allowed that to slip out, but the headmaster didn't laugh at him.

"Admitting it is always the first step," Dumbledore stated in his grand manner.

"You make it sound as if I'm addicted to Dreamless Sleep," the Slytherin responded, allowing his face to fall forward into his hands.

"I must confess, Draco, I myself am not sure how to pinpoint the whereabouts, or rather, the when-abouts, of Harry Potter," the headmaster said, ignoring Draco's complaint. "I do not actually know how you will be able to find him, or if you will even succeed in doing so before losing your life to higher powers."

Draco noticed Dumbledore glancing up at his clock, as though waiting for someone, and a twitch of irritation ran through him. Of course, the nutty bugger was more concerned about his next appointment than about his and Potter's predicament. "So you're saying I may never be able to locate him."

"No, Draco, I am saying that the best and least life-threatening way for you to get him back is to trust him to find his way back again."

A frustrated growl escaped Draco's throat at the headmaster's calm declaration. "He can't do that on his own. He was the one who got us into trouble because he doesn't know anything about a Time-Turner in the first place. He'll get himself into more scrapes and then probably end up getting himself killed, if he hasn't already been..." Draco trailed off, unwilling to think of what would happen if Harry was no longer alive. It would be all his fault, and he would have to live with guilt and heartbreak for the rest of his life, and frankly, Draco wasn't sure he could go through all of that again – losing his father had damn near killed him. He had only survived because he needed to, for his mother's sake. And if Potter was taken from the world...

No. He wouldn't think about that.

Dumbledore, appearing oblivious to Draco's anguish, took a sweet from a container on his desk, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. "Lemon drop?" he offered, and Draco shook his head vigorously, infuriated that the headmaster could be so damned calm.

"Are we just going to sit here doing nothing?" Draco shouted, unable to take any more.

"No, we are sitting here _waiting_."

"What the hell are we waiting for?"

"For Harry to find his way back."

Draco let out a strangled cry of frustration. "You told me you'd research it over the night!"

"I did, and this is the safest solution I came up with."

"For fuck's sake!" Draco leaped to his feet, pacing the room wildly. " _He_ _cannot find his way back on his own_!" he yelled, hoping to get a reaction from Dumbledore, but failing ultimately. "We can't just sit here and wait, we have to do something about this and get him back _now_!"

But before Draco could finish his rant, there was a bright flash of light from behind him, and he spun around, eyes wide. He couldn't believe it, no, he scarcely _dare_ believe it.

Standing there, right before him, stood _Potter_ , emerald eyes, stupid messy hair and all, looking slightly dizzy but otherwise unscathed. And the Time-Turner, _Draco_ 's time turner, was chained securely around his neck – a sight which, for some strange reason, did funny things to the Slytherin's insides. And then those clear, open, beautiful green eyes fell on Draco, and that _insufferable Gryffindor_ managed a weak smile.

Draco's jaw dropped a second before he regained composure. "Potter!" he shouted, completely torn between feeling relieved and feeling very pissed off. "How could you...how _dare_ you..." Not knowing what else to do, he marched up to the offending Gryffindor and pushed him angrily, causing him to stumble into a wall. "You _can't_ just show up like this, you can't just bloody run off and then pop back up…"

To Draco's further infuriation, Potter chuckled. He _chuckled_ , and a shiver ran down Draco's spine as he backed away, hoping it didn't show.

"It's nice to see you too, Draco," he said.

Draco gaped openly, this time not bothering to cover it up. Potter had called him _Draco._ Potter had called him by his _first name._ And it felt bloody incredible, and he shuddered visibly as the sound fell from the brunet's lips, in that voice he had come to know as sensual. Oh for…he was supposed to be _pissed_ at the Gryffindor for disappearing and forgetting all about rejecting him, not bloody going weak over a simple gesture! But all Potter had to do was call him _Draco_ , and he lost all purpose of giving him the cold shoulder.

Merlin, Draco hated him. Draco hated him with every fibre of his being.

"Draco…are you…crying?"

There it was with his given name again, and Draco's hand flew up to his face. He was horrified to discover that tears were indeed streaming down his cheeks. In an instant he frowned, hurriedly wiping those betraying tracks from his face with a quick swipe of his palm. "No," he said, and was satisfied to hear his voice back to its usual coldness. He glanced up and felt a flicker of relief that Potter seemed wary again as Draco's uncaring, unfeeling mask slowly slid back into place, the shields he had constructed around his heart already re-sealing themselves and protecting him once more. Draco congratulated himself on this well-practised defense move – he would not allow himself to be caught off-guard by _Potter_ from now on.

But then Potter smiled and walked forward until they were standing only a few inches apart, and cleared his throat. Draco's eyes focused on Potter's lips as the brunet started to speak. "You'll soon find out some walls are much better knocked down than others, Malfoy. You don't want to go building barriers of the wrong sort." Draco stared at him, eyes wide, as Potter extended his hand, offering it to the blond. "I can help you there."

Draco's heart was beating far too wildly in his chest. He remembered. _Potter remembered_. Draco had gotten worked up and acted embarrassingly like a jilted lover over nothing.

Potter's hand hovered boldly between them, waiting patiently. A part of Draco really wanted to refuse it, because that would serve Potter right, really, for hurting him like he did. But to be honest, as nasty as Draco seemed, he could never bring himself (as cliché as it sounded) to hurt Potter, or anyone else, in that way.

Pulse still racing, Draco reached out and grasped Potter's hand, his brain foggy as he tried to process the feel of the warm, strong grip on his palm and the beautiful, stunning, widening smile on Potter's face. It was a symbol – a representation of the fact that Potter no longer hated him, was no longer using him just so he could get to the Weasellete. Perhaps it only meant truce, or at best a forced friendship, and it might never be anything more than a fleeting and tense acquaintance, but it didn't matter. Because for Draco, that was enough.


	12. Guarded

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat.

Harry released Draco's hand, backing up. His heart was beating wildly, and he wasn't exactly sure why, but then again he could hardly justify the inexplicable joy he had experienced when Draco shook his hand. Perhaps he was so elated because the Slytherin had kept him waiting for longer than was really necessary, or maybe it was the fact that those grey eyes had been so carefully guarded and unreadable – so unpredictable – and kept Harry on his toes. Whatever it was, Harry was happy – glad that he and his former rival now had a chance to start anew.

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore repeated, and Harry reluctantly turned to face him. The headmaster's eyes were twinkling with amusement as he fixed Harry with that familiar x-raying stare that never failed to unnerve him. It didn't help that Draco's silver eyes were still riveted on him, appearing deep in thought, and Harry wished he knew what the blond was thinking.

Dumbledore reached into the folds of his cloak and drew out a small, shining object attached to a piece of black string, then allowed it to dangle before them. Harry let out a surprised gasp when he realized the headmaster was holding another Time-Turner, slightly smaller than Draco's.

"Is that…" he spluttered, unable to finish his sentence.

"It's a slightly altered Time-Turner," Dumbledore stated calmly.

"Altered how?" Draco asked, his voice full of scepticism. Harry couldn't blame him for not trusting random magical objects after all they'd had to go through.

"I've always had this, for emergencies," the headmaster said, ignoring Draco's query. "And this certainly qualifies as an emergency, don't you agree?"

Harry exchanged a wary glance with Draco, seeing his own frown of disbelief mirrored in the other man's expression, before turning back to the respected headmaster and rearranging his features into a look of mild interest. Harry was struck by the strange and extremely sudden comradeship that had formed between him and the Slytherin almost effortlessly – it was as if that one handshake had opened up the possibility of working together as teammates. If Harry wasn't too busy worrying about the Time-Turner Dumbledore was holding out, he would have spent more time marvelling at this newfound kinship.

"Professor, I really don't see –" Harry protested mildly, but Dumbledore was talking again.

"You see, Harry, Draco, I've spent years experimenting with magical objects, adding to my collection of curious trinkets," he said. "This particular object is by far my favourite. It took several attempts to get it right, but eventually I created this – a Time-Turner that goes forward an hour at a time instead of _backwards_."

Harry raised an eyebrow. There was no denying that he trusted Dumbledore, but this sounded far too surreal to be safe. "Umm…sir…I don't think –"

"I've had it stashed away for months," Dumbledore smiled. "I knew it would come in handy someday."

"In all due respect," Draco said suddenly, his voice as cold as ever, if not even more so now, "How do you know it works as you say it does?"

"Well, I don't!" the headmaster declared with a wide smile. "But it is better to try than to refrain from trying because of fear. At least if you try, you will get somewhere."

"Possibly somewhere in the wrong direction," Draco snorted.

Although Harry privately agreed with the Slytherin, he knew this was their only chance out of here. "He has a point, Draco," he noted, the name falling off his lips in an unnatural, but not altogether unpleasant, sensation. "If we don't try, we'll never know."

The blond stared at him as if he had lost his mind, and Harry was starting to think that he had. "Not you, too," the grey-eyed man groaned, passing a hand over his eyes. "Don't you start on that 'we have to try' crap, because you know as well as I do that this could just be another very bad idea. I don't have time for any more fantastic adventures, Potter, and you don't either, if you want to rescue your fiancée."

Harry hardened his gentle gaze into a reproachful glare. Draco knew better than to use Ginny against him. "And how do you propose we do that?" he asked, barely controlling his voice to a firm reprimand. He didn't want to snap, but something about the Slytherin got under his skin so easily. "How can we save her if we're stuck in 1991?"

Draco didn't reply, instead huffing childishly and turning away from Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever," he said lamely, and Harry knew he had won this round.

"Still a spoiled, bratty little git," Harry muttered to himself.

" _What did you say?_ "

"Nothing! The Time-Turner, sir, if you will," Harry said hurriedly, rushing to take the object from Dumbledore's grasp.

The headmaster tugged it away from Harry's outstretched arm. "Now, wait a minute, Harry, and allow me to explain this to you." He waited until Harry backed up apologetically before going on. "As you know, you are around a decade behind the time you wish to return to, which means that the Time-Turner must be spun over eighty thousand times before it reaches the set period."

Harry's heart sunk. He didn't feel like spending days spinning a Time-Turner, and he doubted Draco would be up to the challenge.

"That is why I have also perfected a spell that will bring you to the exact time you wish to go to," Dumbledore said, oblivious to Harry and Draco's fervent glances of panic at the mention of the use of magic on a Time-Turner. "Not to worry, I'm quite certain that it works as it is meant to. It will take a little over twenty-four hours to spin the right amount of times, so you can stay here one more day in the teachers' dorms. Don't worry about it overshooting – the Time-Turner will alert you with a sharp, piercing note ten turns before the accurate time."

Neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin seemed very comfortable at this point, but Harry wasn't sure it was the possibility of another terrible time-travelling mishap or the concept of sharing a dorm that was making them both a little queasy.

"I'm not really sure I want to take the risk," Draco hissed, and Harry tensed at the roughness of his voice.

"It is your decision, of course," Dumbledore said. "But take care you make it wisely."

Draco looked as if he was about to state very icily that he had made his decision, _thankyouverymuch_ , but Harry hurriedly stepped in and blurted out desperately, "Can we sleep on it?"

The Slytherin's initial reaction was to stare at Harry in complete and utter bewilderment, but Harry ignored him in favour of the headmaster's response.

"Certainly, Harry. The kitchens are open for you to take whatever you wish. Take your time, but bear in mind, I will only wait for you for one week, and not forever. If you come to me at a later time, the offer will no longer stand." The headmaster gave them a lightly warning stare.

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thank you, professor."

Dumbledore dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and Harry very nearly had to drag Draco out by his arm – the blond was still shocked.

"You can't seriously be considering this, Potter," Draco snarled once they were out of earshot.

"We don't have a choice," Harry snapped. "You're lucky we were even given time to make up our minds."

"My mind _is_ made up," Draco replied stubbornly. "I'm not touching that _altered_ Time-Turner with a ten-foot wand."

"It's our only way out of here!"

"And into hell."

"This is important to me, Draco."

"Yeah. You know what else is important to me? My sanity. You're making me lose it, Potter."

Harry sighed, frustrated. Trust Draco to be a perfect prat when he needed him most. "Whatever, Draco," he said in an exasperated tone, indicating his surrender. "It's up to you, but I'll be taking the chance." With that, he marched off towards the teachers' dorms, not even bothering to look if the arrogant git was following him, because at the moment, he didn't give a fuck.

* * *

Night fell slowly for the two men, with the sun seeming to take hours to sink below the mountains and darkness refusing to fully penetrate the sky until they were both sick and tired of waiting for an excuse to fall asleep.

Although neither would admit it, Draco knew they were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. If there was such a thing as time-travel jetlag, he was certain he was suffering from it. He was leaning against a wall, his thinly-clothed back shuddering against the cool brick surface. He was reluctant to sit on a bed – it brought up too many inappropriate thoughts when he thought about the fact that Potter's bed was only a few feet away from his. As much as Draco was sure Potter didn't like the idea of sharing a room, this was the only free dorm in the castle, and Potter wasn't one to pick a fight and complain. Draco sneered at the thought. Always a martyr, that fucking Gryffindor.

The door slid open and Potter stepped in through the doorway, balancing a food-laden tray precariously on one hand as he reached around to close the door. Draco eyed the goods hungrily, only now realizing that he had been starving.

"Thanks," he muttered grudgingly as Potter handed him a couple of sandwiches and settled down on the floor next to him, not bothering to question why the blond was seated on the floor and not somewhere more comfortable.

They ate in silence for a bit, the only noise being the sound of the sandwich wrappers being peeled back. To his immense surprise, Draco found that the quiet wasn't awkward. He turned to glance at Potter, wondering when he would bring up the dreaded topic of Dumbledore's Time-Turner. The Gryffindor looked lost in thought, running a hand absent-mindedly through his raven locks, only succeeding in messing them up further. Emerald eyes in a daze, Potter furrowed his brow as though pondering a fantastically difficult problem, and took a bite of his sandwich. Draco's eyes followed the movement of Potter's slightly chapped, full lips and his neat rows of teeth as he bit the bread, and Draco felt his mouth run dry as he caught a brief flash of pink tongue licking those dry lips delicately to catch a few stray crumbs. The Slytherin swallowed noisily as Potter finished his meal and started to worry his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth with his teeth, then releasing it, leaving it plump and swollen. Draco felt a rush of desire seer through him as he wondered how those lips would taste if he licked them, or how they would feel between his own...

"Draco?" an oblivious Potter asked, breaking the spell. Draco glanced away, flushing madly at being caught staring.

"What?" he snapped, and it came out a little rougher than he'd meant it to.

Thankfully, the brunet only smirked at his harshness, and held out the tray. "Fruit?" he offered.

Draco snorted, then took a green apple from the tray. Potter gave him an odd smile at that, and Draco gave him a questioning look.

"It's the only fruit you ever eat," Potter explained.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?" he asked, satisfied when his question made Potter stutter a little before regaining confidence.

"I-well-I..." There was the sound of a throat being cleared and the Gryffindor went on, "It's the only one I've ever noticed you eating when we were at Hogwarts."

 _He noticed me at Hogwarts_. Draco tried not to let a thrill run through him at this revelation. He hid his exhilaration by sinking his teeth into the soft apple, enjoying the crunch that sounded as its sweetness flooded his mouth. He allowed a small moan to slip from his lips before feeling content enough to enjoy his treat in silence. There was something about these apples, really. It could just be the fact that they were in his favourite colour, but having said that, he didn't feel nearly the same way about green grapes.

Draco was mildly aware of Potter watching him, but he ignored that, thinking that the man was merely trying to strike up a conversation involving a Time-Turner, bravery, trying and responsibility. Still, it was hard not to notice the burning gaze on him, and even harder not to hope that the fire in those easily read eyes was for reasons other than brazen determination. And it was exceedingly difficult to forget the fact that they were alone in a dorm with two large beds at night, and that Draco had just watched the most erotic display of eating he had ever seen in his whole life, consisting only of Potter's soft lips and a sandwich. Fantasies started piling up in Draco's mind, and he shifted uneasily, afraid that Potter might notice the tightening of his pants.

Draco chided himself for thinking this way. Potter would never want him, and he clearly just wanted to talk, but was giving Draco time to finish. Sure enough, almost as soon as Draco was done with his apple, the brunet started up.

"Do you ever think about Hogwarts, when we were here?" he asked, staring at nothing in particular with a wistful expression on his face.

Draco nodded. "All the time," he said truthfully.

"Do you ever think it could've been different?"

The blond surveyed the brunet with a calculative stare before looking away. He wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about this "What, as in, what if you hadn't been an insufferable prick?" He took a goblet of tea from the tray, knowing that Potter had brought it for him because Potter hated tea – Draco had never seen him drink it once in their entire time at Hogwarts. "Not sure that could've been helped, Potter."

Draco's dry wit earned him a smack in the shoulder. "Oi!" he protested, nearly spilling his drink over himself, and holding the goblet away at a slightly safer distance.

"I'm not sorry," Potter said, referring to the near-accident involving his tea. "But you know what I meant."

Draco closed his eyes in semi-defeat. He _did_ know what Potter meant, and he knew it very well – the Gryffindor was referring to the years of friendship they had missed out on. "Yes," he replied quietly, again choosing to tell the truth, though not the full truth.

"So do I," Potter admitted. "But in a way, it was for the best, wasn't it?"

Draco made a non-committal grunt, not entirely sure what the other man was getting at.

"I mean, it's a good thing I know you now, when you aren't such a rotten, slimy little git."

Draco gaped at Potter, trying to look indignant but failing ultimately once he saw the mischievous twinkle in the brunet's green eyes, and the boyish grin gracing those unruly, yet somehow perfectly proportioned, features. He wanted to lunge at the man and tackle him to the ground mercilessly, but considering what had happened last time he did that, he held back and struggled to regain composure. Potter laughed at his expression, which he was pretty sure was flickering between mock-rage and helpless exasperated amusement, and Draco couldn't keep from staring. The sound was beautiful and honest, and no matter how many times Draco had heard it happen, it still sent a thrill down his spine. _I did that. I made Potter laugh._ It was a ridiculous sentiment, but it made him feel a little warmer against the cold wall.

"I take it back," Potter chuckled. "You're still very much a slimy git."

"Hey," snapped Draco, once again going for something resembling anger and missing his mark, his voice coming out far too affectionate for his liking at the sight of the humour in Potter's lightly tanned features. Hoping he hadn't revealed too much, he took a sip of his tea, and was instantly surprised. Sweetness filled his mouth, not too much to make him diabetic but enough to send the average kid on sugar rush. "You know how I like it," he gasped.

"What?"

"My tea. You know how I take my tea." Draco was gazing into his goblet, mind blown. He hadn't expected much from Potter, but this was exactly how he always drank his tea, and there was no way Potter could know a detail like that.

"Course I do," Potter replied easily, somewhat nonchalant. "I've watched you preparing it every morning for seven years, Draco. It's common knowledge."

 _He watched me at Hogwarts._ There went that lovely shiver down his spine again. He gave what he hoped was a lightly thankful half-smile before they lapsed into silence. He wasn't used to being all chummy with Potter, and it was doing unhealthy things to his heart rate, so keeping his mouth shut was his best option. But as usual, the brief moment of quiet didn't last long.

"Draco, I know it's hard to trust a Time-Turner that's been touched by magic right now, and you have every right to feel that way," Potter said, and Draco fought to keep from rolling his eyes. "But it's my fault we're in this mess in the first place, and we were only separated because of Lockhart, and we both know how incompetent he is. Dumbledore can be trusted. He isn't me, and he isn't Gilderoy."

"Spare me the melodramatic coaxing, Potter," Draco snorted, getting up and placing the now empty goblet aside, trying to appear nonchalant despite his racing pulse that had accelerated as soon as the brunet's expressive eyes met his. "I'm not doing it."

"What, do you want to stay here stuck in time forever?" Potter asked. His voice was quiet but Draco could hear his frustration loud and clear.

"This time is as good as any, if we're just going to be stuck," he replied smoothly. This was good, this was familiar ground – he was riling Potter up, and the Gryffindor was taking the bait. This was a safe area.

"If it wasn't for Dumbledore's tricks with Time-Turners, I would have never found my way back!" Potter exclaimed, and then Draco was stumped, and had to stare at the exasperated man with curiousity mingling with his surprise. "That's right, it was Dumbledore who fixed the Time-Turner to come to this exact date at that exact time. Did you honestly think I could have returned on my own?"

"No," Draco replied truthfully, head reeling. This was quite a lot to take in, and he couldn't help reading into it – Potter had taken such a risk, had trusted an altered Time-Turner, just to get back to him. He knew it wasn't like that, but he couldn't help thinking it and feeling a small flare of hope settle in his stomach. This was very, very bad, and he knew that if he didn't do something _right now_ he was going to end up revealing too much emotion. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in his hands, willing Potter to shut the fuck up, and for a second, quiet descended the room.

Unfortunately, again, the silence was short lived, as Potter's voice penetrated Draco's brief moment of no-noise. "Draco, I –"

"Merlin, Potter, can't you hold your tongue for more than five seconds?" gasped Draco, standing up and pacing away from him quickly, struggling to hide the raw, easily read truth in his eyes. "If you're going to talk your scar off without saying anything really important, then I'm going to bed." He looked quickly at the brunet and was surprised to see a brief flash of hurt in the man's eyes. He sighed, relenting. "We'll talk tomorrow, alright? I'm just really tired."

Potter nodded and managed a small smile which sent Draco's heart tumbling into oblivion before standing up and approaching him. "Before I forget," he said by means of explanation, and reached around his neck, unfastening the Time-Turner that hung there and dropping it into Draco's outstretched palm. Draco could feel the warmth of the other man's fingers when they brushed his skin, and it instantly set his entire body on fire, and he glanced up, his grey eyes meeting Potter's brilliantly green, sparkling ones. Draco was instantly struck by the pure beauty he could see in them, and how very easy to read they were, almost like an open book. However, what really drew Draco in to that soft, warm gaze was the fact that it seemed as if those eyes were reeling him in, bit by bit, stealing away his soul like a Dementor's Kiss, and almost as painfully. It seemed impossible to turn away, and Draco was riveted, as if compelled to continue staring into those emerald depths until he fell into them to his death, and oh! What a sweet death that would be.

Potter was the first to look away. "Goodnight, Draco," the brunet spluttered vaguely, and he went to sit on his bed, and just like that, the conversation – or lack thereof – was over.

Draco stared at the man's back for a minute before turning his attention to the Time-Turner in his palm. The smooth metal was warm, and a flush rose to his cheeks when he realized that Potter had worn this, had hung it around his neck for two days. An odd, possessive sort of pang ran through him at this thought – it felt as if he now owned a small part of Potter, even though he knew he didn't and that made no sense.

Sighing, Draco tentatively put the Time-Turner back on, relishing in the feel of the familiar weight around his neck. He had never fully enjoyed the heaviness of the object bearing down on him, even more so now that it was nothing but a useless artifact, but knowing that it had been around a certain Golden Boy's neck and that it was as close to said boy as he would probably ever get, he could hardly complain.

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep.

It wasn't from lack of trying, or exhaustion, or comfort. He wanted to sleep, he was tired to the bone, and the firm mattress he lay on was a vast improvement from sleeping on cave grounds and thin sheets and cold marble floors. But he still couldn't shut his eyes, and most likely because his brain was fully occupied by thoughts of a certain blond Slytherin.

Harry was completely unable to pinpoint the time when he started becoming infatuated with Draco. He wasn't even sure exactly what to label these extensive, complicated, newfound feelings that seemed to have sprouted from virtually nowhere. It couldn't possibly be attraction – Harry was sure that he was straight as Neville Longbottom under a _Petrificus Totalus_ – or at least he hoped so. Perhaps he could blame it on curiousity. It was hard not to be curious about Draco. Every fibre of his being seemed to radiate mystery, from his reluctance to discuss the abuse he had experienced in childhood or his nightmares, to his carefully guarded Muggle home and his reigning house loyalty, fully on display as he paraded around in different shades of green. Not to mention the fact that Draco was full of surprises, and Harry never knew what to expect from him, which was good practise in a way and kept him on his toes.

Yes, Harry supposed it could merely be curiousity. But that didn't explain the fact that he had been completely turned on by the sight of Draco eating an apple. Harry couldn't help but shudder as his mind replayed the scene. The sight of those thin, pink lips on the green skin of the apple, causing little drops of juice to trickle tantalizingly down those long, slim, pale fingers, the seductive flick of his tongue to catch the liquid as his diamond-grey eyes fluttered shut sensually, and that small, almost criminal moan that caught Harry by surprise so much that he had been unable to speak. It had been the single most erotic display he had ever witnessed.

 _Shite_. He shouldn't have pictured it, he knew he shouldn't have let his thoughts wander and stray to unfamiliar territory. Especially since the direction of his musings had caused a rather uncomfortable tightening of his pants. Harry shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel his rebellious brain's fantasies and wondering what on earth was wrong with him. He would not ever allow himself to become painfully aroused by thoughts of Draco Malfoy.

Harry wondered if he could chance a quick wank, but the fact that Draco's bed was mere feet away from his made it a little too risky. And it wouldn't help if Draco discovered Harry was jerking off to thoughts of _him_.

 _This is so fucking wrong_ , Harry thought to himself. He could justify his...interest...in the blond with good, old-fashioned curiousity (and perhaps a rather Gryffindor-ish thirst for adventure), but getting hard by the mere thought of him was a totally different story altogether. Perhaps it could be pinned down to the fact that he hadn't been laid in months – he and Ginny hadn't had much time or interest in that for most of the year, apart from occasional inebriated nights – and the simple truth that Draco was attractive. _Oh, Merlin_ , Harry groaned to himself. Had he just thought of another male as _attractive_? This couldn't be good, it definitely wasn't right.

"Potter?" A soft voice startled Harry so much that he nearly jolted off the bed. He turned his head to glance in Draco's direction, but the Slytherin still had his back to him. Harry frowned. Had he imagined it?

"Potter?" The voice came again, more sure this time.

"Yes?" Harry asked, wincing when his voice sounded a lot softer and weaker than he'd meant it to. There was no reply. "Draco?" he tried again, but his inquiry was met by silence. Sighing and prepping himself for another surprise from his companion, Harry propped himself up on his elbow so he was fully facing the other man. Yet another mysterious show put on by the blond. Taking care to make sure his erection wasn't visible through his sheets, Harry whispered in the direction of Draco's silhouette. "Can't sleep?" he questioned.

There was another few seconds of quiet before Draco turned in his bed to look at Harry. Even in the darkness, Harry could fully make out those smoky, slate-silver eyes practically shining at him as they met his gaze.

"Yeah," Draco admitted, looking ashamed of the fact. His eyes flickered uncertainly away before they turned back to Harry, who was instantly struck by the fact that they were relatively unguarded.

"This sucks, doesn't it?" Harry grimaced.

Draco laughed hollowly, humourlessly, and the sound was so empty that Harry shivered involuntarily. "Congratulations, Potter, on making the understatement of the year."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but he knew the coldness wasn't directed at him, so he bit back the sharp retort on his tongue, settling for a more teasing one instead. "Congratulations, Draco, on still being a slimy git."

Draco snorted, but didn't say anything else, twisting to lie on his back so he was no longer facing Harry. Silence fell on the pair again before Harry spoke once more, already accustomed to being the one to break the silence.

"Draco?"

"Mm."

"Thank you."

Draco's eyes snapped up to meet Harry's, wide and partially confused. "For what?"

"For taking Lockhart's spell for me."

Draco turned his head back to the ceiling again, refusing to make eye contact. "I didn't take it for you."

"Sure," Harry chuckled. "Of course you didn't. Look, if there's any way I can repay the favour, because I've caused you so much trouble and all that..."

"You aren't indebted to me, Potter. I did all that out of my own selfishness. You've saved my life several times, and I was attempting to repay you. You owe me nothing." Draco's voice was firm before he turned away completely from Harry again, mumbling that sounded oddly like, "Bloody fucking Gryffindors."

"Suit yourself," Harry sighed, rolling back to lie flat on his bed, muttering as he looked away, "Damned stubborn Slytherins." What he really wanted to say, though, was _Confusing fucking Malfoys._ Fortunately, there was no reply to Harry's murmured words, and Harry hoped that these were the only surprises he was getting tonight.

He had nearly drifted off when Draco's voice came floating over to him. "Well...you could...maybe...try not to go missing like that again."

Once more, Harry was surprised, but couldn't help smiling to himself at those words, feeling a rush of warmth coarse through him when he understood the meaning behind them. "I won't."

"Not that I care or anything, it's just that it's a little hard to get the bloody mission over with when you aren't around," the blond added hastily.

Harry laughed smugly, feeling a rather fluffy sort of sensation rushing through his stomach. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was pleasant. "If I didn't know better, Draco, I'd say you were scared," he stated good-naturedly. A few seconds passed before Harry realized he wasn't going to get a reply to that one, so he started to sink back into drowsiness, but before he could slip into unconsciousness, once more, Harry was roused from his lethargy by that quiet voice, and was prepared to get annoyed when he heard the silent, shaky words falling from Draco's lips.

"I _am_ scared."

Harry jerked awake rapidly, sitting up in his bed and positioning himself to face Draco. "Pardon?" he asked, afraid he'd heard wrongly or that Draco was playing a fool instead of actually opening up to him.

"That's why I can't sleep," Draco whispered, and Harry had to strain his ears to hear him. "I'm afraid that this time, it won't just be a nightmare."

Harry didn't even realize that he had moved, but suddenly his feet were on the floor and rushing towards Draco's bed, feeling that familiar urgency that made him long to wrap his arms around the blond and console him, even if he had no idea what Draco was going on about. Like that day near the Malfoy Manor, he just wanted to comfort him, because the pain and hurt dripping from each word Draco uttered was stabbing at his heart. He held back, however, as logic caught up with him, and he remembered how Draco pushed him away after crying on Harry's shoulder before. He didn't want any more distance and misunderstandings between him and this man.

"What do you dream about?" Harry asked instead, knowing full well that it was a stupid, tactless question, but not knowing what else to do or say. Again, only a deadly quiet met his words, and Harry sank down onto the bed next to Draco, sitting precariously on the edge in case the Slytherin decided to punch him in the gut for invasion of privacy and personal space.

But Draco didn't hit him, choosing instead to answer the question. "The Dark Lord, mostly. We all dream about him sometimes, don't we?" Harry nodded, because he still did, but then realized Draco couldn't see him. "But Father's always there. Sometimes just sitting in a corner, watching his master hurt me – " Harry tensed when he heard that, nearly giving in to his need to stroke Draco's hair, offer him any form of comfort at all. "– and sometimes _he's_ the one hitting me, and the Dark Lord is the one laughing..."

Harry couldn't take it anymore. With a swift movement, he wrapped his arms around Draco's shaking shoulders, pulling him closer, almost protectively. Draco squirmed and struggled for only a second before giving in and pulling Harry down onto the bed next to him and nestling his head on Harry's chest. Harry felt tears trickling down Draco's face again, and gently wiped them away with his thumb.

It didn't take Draco long to regain control of his pride this time, and the sobs stopped before five minutes passed. Harry felt the awkwardness start to grow again, but it shouldn't have felt so strange, should it have? They were sort of friends now, after all, weren't they? And it was natural to have to comfort a friend once in a while – Harry had done it a million times with Hermione when she was stressed out over Ron's ignorance, and even more for Ron when he nearly lost Hermione and came begging for his advice, and then again when Ginny passed away. Why should this be any different?

But it _was_ different, and Harry couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"I should go back..." Harry began, trailing off, not sure how his words would be met by Draco – with coldness and indifference, or with actual gratitude?

The Slytherin surprised him once again by shaking his head against Harry's chest. "Please...just stay here...for a while longer."

Harry looked carefully at Draco, but the blond showed no signs of letting Harry into his thoughts, so he just whispered "okay" and settled down quietly, his arms full of Draco and his chest brimming with so much happiness he thought he would burst. Once again, he didn't know why little displays of trust made him feel so delightfully satisfied inside.

 _Fucking, bloody, mysterious, confusing Malfoys_ , Harry thought to himself, rather affectionately, and as he breathed in the comforting scent of Draco's skin, sleep finally claimed him.


	13. Developments

When Draco awoke the next morning, he was disoriented beyond belief, and experienced several varying emotions in succession. The first was relief, because he hadn't suffered another terribly frightening dream, or even a torturous, hopeless one filled with a Potter-fantasy. The next was utter perplexity at the fact that he appeared to have a pair of rather comforting arms wrapped securely around him, and although it felt nice, he couldn't pinpoint who they belonged to, and if he should be worried or just nestle back in. After that, came complete shock when he remembered everything that had transpired between him and Harry, how he had confessed all of that in desperation to be heard. (And since when had Potter become _Harry_ in Draco's head? And why did it sound...nice?) Then, there was a sudden, unexpected bout of satisfaction at the knowledge that he fit perfectly into the crook of Harry's arm, followed by a spike of arousal when he realized how intimate this position was, which made him groan as he felt himself harden and his supposedly loose-fitting trousers tightened.

And finally, came the complete and utter terror.

He had just spilled out his worst fears to a man who had every reason to use it against him. He knew it was irrational not to trust Harry, especially after their truce, but fright was overtaking him quickly and driving him into mad panic. Even worse, he had grovelled like a house-elf and begged Harry to stay with him – what would the Gryffindor think of him then?

Draco hurriedly disentangled himself from Harry's grasp and leaped out of bed as quickly as he dared, so as not to wake the other man. Unfortunately, despite his distress, his erection hadn't dissipated, and he groaned to himself about his predicament. Then, Harry stirred slightly, muttering in his sleep, and in complete and utter consternation, Draco bounded for the bathroom.

Once inside, he spun and closed the door, not caring that it didn't have a lock and merely striving to put as much distance between himself and Harry as was humanly possible. He pushed his back against the door, trying in vain to calm himself. As soon as he started thinking clearly again, he realized with a jolt that he _did_ trust Harry. Very much so.

After a few minutes' deliberation, he decided that he might as well have a cold shower. Maybe it would stop the flush from rising continuously to his cheeks and the warmth flooding his system. Sighing, Draco peeled off the long-sleeved shirt he insisted on wearing to bed every night. He knew his actions drew suspicion from Harry, but it hid something he was absolutely ashamed of. The shirt fell from his body and Draco winced at the sight of the horrible, familiar, hateful mark marring the alabaster skin on his inner left arm. It was nothing more than a scar now, and hadn't hurt or caused him any physical pain in years, yet the sight of that hideous, lightly faded tattoo still filled Draco with self-loathing, hatred and absolute disgust.

Tearing his gaze from the mark tainting his flesh, Draco glanced up at the mirror before him, barely registering the criss-cross of scars slashed across his chest, but raising a hand to them as soon as he did. They were faded, as well, but unlike the Dark Mark, he sometimes didn't mind them haphazardly decorating his skin, other times wishing they would siphon off of his chest and fall to the ground. On one hand, they made him feel as if a part of Harry would always be with him, and that delusion offered him much-needed comfort many times. But at other times, he would look at them and realize that those scars, meant to kill, were as close as he would probably ever get to the man, and that thought made him hate himself.

Draco averted his eyes from the sight and stepped into the shower. He would not think of that now. Being spared a horrible nightmare didn't mean Draco felt alright about having his brain filled with thoughts of the Dark Lord all day.

The freezing cold spray of the shower sent a shock ricocheting through his frame, and he shuddered, the drops of icy water sending a shiver down his curved spine. He glanced at where the water fell at his feet, and realized, to his utter dismay, that his hard on hadn't abated one bit, and his cock was still standing at full attention.

Draco sighed to himself. He didn't exactly feel like wanking when Harry was in such close proximity, so he started searching through his thoughts for something that would completely distract him – Millicent Bulstrode in a bikini, for example, was an absolutely disgusting thought.

But things didn't go according to plan as Draco's mind was suddenly invaded by thoughts of Harry, as Draco recalled the feel of Harry's arms wrapped cautiously around his slender frame, the slow movement of his toned chest as it rose and fell when he breathed, that gorgeous arse...Draco even longed to feel the brunet's dark, messy hair under his fingers.

Draco let out a moan, now even more aroused than he had been previously. He reached down and touched himself, stroking the length of his cock between his fingers, swirling his thumb over the head and groaning as he imagined it was Harry's hand on his shaft instead of his own. He opened his head in a silent moan as he sped up the movement of his wrist, wondering vaguely how he would taste to Harry, then revelling in the thought of those sinful, full lips (that could make even eating a sandwich look sexual) wrapped around his cock. The mere thought of Harry's green eyes staring up at him as the Gryffindor sucked him off was more than enough to drive Draco over the edge and he stroked himself more erratically, pumping his fist wildly over his shaft. His groans became louder, slightly bolder, but he didn't care. He fell back against the wall, icy water still plummeting over him, thinking of a beautiful Gryffindor's raven black locks and strong, tanned hands gripping him and a hot mouth fastened around him and...

" _Harry_ ," he groaned aloud as he came. It was the most beautiful name that had ever left his lips.

Harry awoke to the sound of gushing water. He sat up in bed and glanced around, trying to get his bearings, still not quite awake and rather lethargic. As he did so, he felt many fleeting emotions flicker through his still foggy brain. The first, as he realized where he was, was an odd sense of satisfaction. He had made a truce with Draco, they were going to save Ginny. The second was puzzlement, as he realized that although he should be, he wasn't in his own bed, which had his shirt spread out on it a few feet away, and he couldn't imagine why he wouldn't be on it. Then came some form of shock or other when memories of comforting Draco last night and falling asleep on his bed floated back to him. He could scarcely believe that the Slytherin would have opened up to him like that – it must have been his lucky day. Following that was a rush of dismay when he realized that Draco wasn't with him, nor was he anywhere in sight around the dorm.

Then, lastly, came a sudden, terrifying bout of absolute _fright_.

What if Draco had been scared off so badly, it was now the point of no return? What if Draco was going to push him away so far now that he'd never be able to make things right again, if they were indeed wrong?

Harry cursed under his breath. Damned Slytherins were fucking confusing. Draco was probably the most high-maintenance and mysterious one of the lot.

The sound of rushing water hadn't ceased yet, and Harry's only half-awake brain made him question the sound. He got to his feet slowly and crept towards it, and realized it was coming from behind a closed door. _Must be the bathroom_ , Harry thought groggily, and the hope that Draco hadn't run out on him and was simply taking a bath made him feel slightly relieved.

"Draco?" he called, rapping on the door. There was no response from inside, and Harry frowned, pushing lightly at the door. It swung open easily and Harry glanced within the room, worried about a burst pipe or something, only to have his gaze fall on a very wet – and naked – Draco Malfoy.

Harry was about to mutter a garbled apology and rush out of the bathroom, embarrassed, when he heard an incredibly erotic moan and halted in his tracks, unable to make his legs function. Draco hadn't actually noticed his presence yet, and Harry's darting, bewildered eyes fell upon the sizable, hard cock that Draco was gripping in his fist.

It was at that moment that Harry knew he was thoroughly fucked, and not in the literal sense (although in hindsight, that wouldn't have been so bad).

Harry found himself rooted to the spot, completely unable to tear his eyes away from the gorgeous, mesmerizing picture the blond made – wet, platinum blond hair that Harry suddenly longed to run his fingers through flat against his face; head thrown back, eyes closed and sensual lips opened in a cute "O" shape as he lost himself in pleasure; long, pale fingers wrapped around his long, thin cock as he thrust himself into his hand and let out incredibly beautiful moans. Each little sound from Draco's mouth went shooting straight to Harry's prick.

Harry couldn't remember being so hard in all his life. His cock was throbbing and he longed to touch himself but he was afraid that Draco would see him if he did. Logic dictated that Harry should turn and run. Right now. Before he was spotted. Because if Draco hadn't been scared off by waking up next to Harry, he sure as hell would be if he knew Harry was just standing here and watching him like some sort of pervert.

Draco let out a particularly loud cry, and Harry slipped forwards and fell into the door. It let out a very soft _thud_ that probably couldn't be heard over the sound of the shower, but it was all Harry needed to come to his senses. Righting himself, he spun to leave, trying to figure out why the sight of Draco jerking himself off was making him feel so fucking horny, when he heard another moan.

" _Harry_."

Harry halted, shivering at hearing his given name spoken in that husky, lust-filled voice, and for a horrifying second he thought Draco had spotted him, and there was no escape. He turned back to Draco, ready to face the music, but no shouts, demands, or angry accusations came. Draco's back was pressed flush against the bathroom wall, his misty grey eyes blown open with lust, his cock spurting as he came, white liquid coating his nimble hand and stomach.

Harry's jaw dropped. Draco wanked while thinking of _him_. The realization hit him suddenly, causing him to let out a rather audible gasp.

At that exact moment, Draco's eyes flicked to him, widening in pure shock.

For a few seconds, all Harry could do was stare at the beautiful sight before him.

And then he fled.

Draco was still beat red hours later.

Honestly, why was his luck _always_ so bloody rotten? Salazar must really have something against him. Humiliation burned through him like Fiendfyre, incinerating whatever pride and dignity he had still held on to, leaving him completely scalded and defenceless. His cheeks were still ablaze with embarrassment and his face was so warm he was surprised he didn't just spontaneously combust like a Phoenix.

Of course, Harry had tried to approach him and make things right, the bloody Gryffindor, but at an accidental brush of shoulders, he had leaped away as though scalded, which had done nothing for Draco's already singed ego.

But now that he had a chance to think about it, Draco realized that there had been _fire_ in Harry's wide eyes when Draco caught him – his pupils had been dilated with lust, his jade green eyes nearly completely black with arousal, leaving nothing but a thin emerald line surrounding it as an iris. And, as strange as it felt to admit it, it sort of turned Draco on, too, apart from just flooding him with heated embarrassment, that Harry had been watching him the whole time. Now, if _only_ he hadn't impulsively cried out Harry's name like that. Maybe the situation could have still been salvaged – after all, there was nothing wrong with wanking, every healthy young adult male must have done it once in a while. But Draco had practically cried out.

_Harry._

Draco shuddered at the memory, the horror rushing through him like a wave as he remembered seeing Harry splutter, then turn and run. As far as Draco knew, Harry was as straight as a Petrified Mrs Norris...right? He couldn't be sure. It frustrated Draco that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite figure Harry out, even if the man was an open book.

Speaking of which, he hadn't seen head or tail of Harry in hours. He was probably off wandering the school grounds, Disillusioned, enjoying himself while Draco was stuck here, wandless and unable to leave the room for fear of being seen. Perfect, really, and it was just like the selfish prick to abandon him like this.

Dark shadows started to cast themselves around the dim room, and Draco realized that the sun had started to set and he was perfectly hungry. After a rushed, awkward breakfast which involved toast, forced conversation and two men straining to sit as far away from each other as was possible without being rude, the pair had gone their separate ways – or, rather, Potter had taken off around the castle and left Draco to rot.

 _Six more days_ , Draco reminded himself. _Six days and he'll either leave me behind, or things will be back to normal._ And Harry wouldn't remember his escapade with the blond, and Draco wouldn't recall an adventure with the brunet, and Potter would be free to marry the bloody Weaselette. And Draco wouldn't care less. Really, he wouldn't, because they would have never gone on this ridiculous quest anyway. The pain and hurt would disappear. He would go back to being oblivious to Harry's presence in Muggle London, and things would be fine. Just fine.

It hurt Draco's head to think about it, actually. He had never gone and altered his past so drastically before, and he was unsure of the consequences of such an act. Would it feel like it had just been a dream, or would this whole experience dissolve into nothingness?

Draco leaped into the air when the door creaked open and the sound of footsteps echoed across the room. The door was closed sharply before Draco heard muttering, a whoosh, and then Potter was fully visible again, once more gripping a tray in his hands.

"Hungry?" Harry asked awkwardly. Draco shrugged, not trusting himself to speak. Harry sighed and came to sit next to him. Draco was unable to restrain himself from bristling at the close proximity. "I managed to nick some pasta," Harry said, ignoring Draco's obvious discomfort and handing him a container filled with spaghetti. Draco winced when Harry's fingers brushed his accidentally.

They ate in silence again, this time one that was prickly, tense and not in the least bit friendly, before Harry (bless his Golden soul, really) couldn't take it anymore.

"Can we just forget about it?" he asked quietly.

Draco shrugged again.

"I get it, Draco, I know what happened, and I understand," Harry said, and Draco froze in fear of him saying something like, _You've been in love with me for years, you needed release, who else would you think of but your long-time crush?_ But Harry didn't state anything of that sort, instead opting for another explanation. "I'm clearly the only remotely shaggable thing around here, and you're single. You have to fantasize about _something_ , right? It's rather unfortunate that I'm the handsomest thing around this place, but it's better than Flitwick, isn't it?"

Draco trained his incredulous gaze on the bashful, blushing Harry. Surely even _he_ couldn't be _that_ ignorant! But Draco recognized the look in his eyes, the want for them to just go back to being friends and forget about the whole thing. Harry knew exactly how Draco felt about him, or at least had a general idea of the matter. He just wanted to deny it, he didn't want it to be true. Draco allowed his expression to grow cold, carefully refitting his mask. If Harry wanted to pretend it was nothing when it clearly was, he would play along. "I'm glad you didn't take it the wrong way," he uttered coolly.

Harry smiled uncertainly. "Yeah."

Draco turned back to his meal, appetite diminished considerably. Fine. _Potter_ wanted to play games. Draco had little problem with that – he was good at games, and he was very competitive. If Harry was going to keep up this farce and thought he could win this, that Draco's resolve would break first, then he was wrong. Sure, Harry had the upper hand as of now, but the bold little Gryffindor had forgotten one thing – Draco was a Slytherin. And Slytherins were never outdone.

It was his touch, really, that did it for Harry. The feel of a warm, slick hand palming his clothed crotch and hot breath ghosting over his full lips which occasionally brushed thin, pink ones. Harry knew this was wrong, he knew it was wrong in so, so many ways, but he couldn't think with those fingers undoing his pants, and as soon as a talented tongue intertwined with his, he knew he was a goner.

Harry gasped into his lover's mouth when he felt the length of his cock being stroked at an agonizingly slow pace, and he thrust blindly into the hand. He nearly whimpered aloud when the hand was removed and the body pressing against his slipped away from him, but bit back his complaint when a hot mouth enveloped the head of his cock, teasing, tongue swirling around the tip. He moaned, bucking his hips, but they were held firmly in place by strong hands.

"Please," Harry begged softly, but received no response. Clenching his jaw to keep from coming, he glanced down at his partner, and saw those diamond eyes staring seductively back up at him, the blond hair still somehow in complete order without a strand out of place.

"You'll have to do better than that, Potter," Draco whispered, flicking out his pink tongue and licking a stripe up the underside of Harry's stiff prick.

"Please!" Harry yelled, desperate to find release.

The mouth finally closed completely around his cock, taking him in deep, and the sensation was just too much for Harry, and...

_Crack!_

Harry shot up, drenched in sweat and sticky with perspiration. His head was throbbing, and every nerve ending felt overly stimulated. He tried to sit up, but he felt uncomfortable, and realized almost instantly that his pants were wet and stained with semen. _Fuck_ , he swore to himself, hoping he hadn't moaned too loudly in his sleep and/or alerted his roommate. He couldn't believe he had just had a wet dream about _Draco_. That...couldn't be right. Perhaps something was wrong with Harry. Perhaps it was just the fact that Harry had caught him wanking, and it had gotten him all hot and bothered from lack of getting off. Right? Yeah, that reasoning was perfectly...erm...reasonable, and it would explain the lucid fantasy, although it couldn't justify the loud "crack" that had just resounded across the room.

"Merlin, what the fuck...?"

Harry hurriedly piled his blanket over the lower half of his body, afraid that Draco had noticed his embarrassing state, but Draco's grey eyes (Harry shuddered inwardly at the memory of them staring up at him while he got his dick sucked) were trained in a very different direction from where Harry was. Harry followed his gaze and realized that an old, tired-looking, wrinkled house elf had appeared at the foot of Draco's bed, and Draco had obviously been startled out of his mind by it.

Completely ignoring the men's shocked states, the house elf squeaked, "Master Dumbledore wishes to remind Misters Potter and Malfoy that they have five days left to take his offer."

"Err...right..." Draco said slowly, looking semi-drowsy and half-asleep, and Harry couldn't help the words _adorable_ and _cute_ crossing his mind before he could stop them.

The house elf bowed as low as it was able, then Disapparated with another loud _crack_.

"Bloody house elves," Draco scowled, kicking off the bedcovers of his mattress and stepping onto the floor.

"Hermione would kill you if she ever heard you say that," Harry chided absentmindedly, realizing to his dismay that he had left his wand in his jacket pocket, which was hanging by the door, too far away. He attempted a wandless, nonverbal _Tergeo_ , and then he tried a _Scourgify,_ and much to his relief, despite lack of practice, his magic was still every bit as strong as he remembered it to be. His pants were still lightly stained, but were much more comfortable and dry.

Draco stopped what he was doing, glancing quickly over at Harry, who suddenly realized that although Draco looked odd wearing nothing but a forest green long-sleeved shirt and boxers, he still looked entirely shaggable. _Fuck_. Harry shook his head fervently, trying to dispel any thoughts that associated Draco with anything fuckable, because, unbelievably, the thought was making him hard again.

"Yes, I remember, Granger and that organization. I highly doubt that any good ever came out of … _spew_ …or whatever it was," Draco mused.

"S.P.E.W.," corrected Harry automatically, flushing scarlet when Draco cocked an eyebrow speculatively. "And it's Granger-Weasley, now."

"She married him?" Draco gaped, jaw dropping visibly, and Harry would have found it comically amusing if he wasn't so worried about Draco noticing his state, but he still laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, just a year ago," he replied, smiling to himself as he recalled their Bonding ceremony with fondness.

"Despite her notably high intelligence quotient, she still ends up with a Weasel," Draco sneered, and Harry wasn't sure whether to be impressed that Draco had admitted Hermione's brilliance, or insulted because he himself had been very close to tying the knot with a 'Weasel' too.

"Love is blind," Harry allowed.

Draco snorted. "No, love is fucking retarded," he drawled, his voice laced with bitterness.

Harry found himself rendered speechless by the statement as he tried to figure out if those words had a personal meaning to the Slytherin or if he was just arguing for the sake of hearing his own voice. "I suppose that depends on how you look at things," Harry noted.

"Yes, whether you look at things with brain or without it," he snorted.

"Surely you don't believe that," Harry frowned.

"Of course I do, because that's the fact," Draco snapped. "It's a contest, a fight, a farce."

"How can you think that way?" Harry gaped.

"Come on. Couples always argue about who loves the other more. Love is fuel to the flame that is pride. It makes people feel _important_ to love. It's always, 'I love you, no, I love you more'. It's nothing but a battle to get first place."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "That's supposed to be a way of expressing endearment, albeit in a corny way. There's no pretense behind it."

Draco laughed. "Sell that logic to a Hufflepuff, Potter."

"Love is what won us the war," Harry reasoned.

"Love is what started it. The love of power."

"That's different."

"How so? It's still obsession, it's still placing something so high above anything else that you would willingly sacrifice your entire soul to have it."

A scowl crossed Harry's features as he argued, "Love and obsession are two different things." _I would know, I was obsessed with you in Sixth Year._

Draco threw his hands up in the air in what could have been mock or real frustration. "Typical sodding Gryffindor, placing your faith in something so fragile and fickle," he smirked, but despite the arrogant half-smile, he appeared slightly agitated by their rather heated debate. "Love doesn't get you anywhere, Potter. It gets in the way. It doesn't last, and it changes its mind, and smiles turn into frowns, and rainbows and puppies and butterflies turn into storm clouds and rainy days."

"You left out unicorns," Harry joked, but quickly growing serious when Draco didn't laugh. "And it'll only change its mind if it wasn't really love in the first place!"

"Thus, love doesn't exist."

"Now _that_ is just pure bullshit."

"You were the one who proved the point."

Harry let out an exasperated puff of air. "I did not such thing." When Draco merely shook his head, he added, "You seem to believe firmly in this stuff."

"Mere observations from my years of experience, Potter. If you had been paying attention, you might actually learn something from yours."

"I _have_ been paying attention, and as far as I'm concerned, unconditional love _does_ exist," Harry insisted, remembering his mother's sacrifice for him.

Draco snorted. "Sure. Leave the so-called love of your life for mere weeks and whatever fluffy little _feelings_ you had for them will be gone."

"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah. Of somebody else."

Harry sighed, leaning back into his pillows, knowing this argument was a lost cause – they had polar opposite opinions on the matter. If there was one lesson he had learned from the war, it was how to pick his battles. "You're a very depressing person, Draco," he chided, giving in.

"Oh, sod off, Potter. You know you like me that way," was the cocky retort.

Harry chuckled. _Yeah, maybe I do._

Night came slightly quicker this time, and time flew by so fast that Draco barely noticed it as he spent hours upon end bickering with Harry about anything and everything that came to mind. They had been forced to agree to disagree on many things, but that had been part of the fun, and for some strange reason, as conversation between them got heated, Draco realized that he was actually enjoying himself. Although Harry wasn't exactly what one would call an intellectual, he was stimulating company – in more ways than one.

Draco privately hoped that Harry never noticed the few times when Draco's pants would become slightly tented (again, thinking of Millicent Bulstrode chased his arousal away when necessary). It was the little things that drove Draco slowly but surely out of his mind – the way Harry licked his lips hastily before making an argument, or how the sound of his laughter always made Draco a little dizzy, or the rare times when Harry would grace him with a very Slytherin-like smirk that would send Draco's blood rushing straight to his groin.

As Harry gave their empty plates back to a house elf, Draco observed him carefully, watching the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the curve of his arse as he bent over, those beautiful eyes sparkling as they darted around, so readable, so _open_ , unguarded in a way Draco's could never be…and then he watched as Harry accidentally stumbled over his own feet, which was _definitely in no way cute._ At all. No way.

Harry shot him a sheepish grin when he caught him staring, and Draco flushed and looked away. There was no way he would even _consider_ the possibility that such a goofy grimace was adorable.

"I'm going to bed," Harry said.

"Yeah," Draco replied half-heartedly.

"Good night."

"Mm."

To his surprise, the brunet laughed. "Come on, Draco, surely you can do better than that."

Draco snorted, tossing his blond hair back off his face. "That's all you're getting, Potter. Deal with it."

The Slytherin was surprised even further when Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Hey, I deserve more than an 'mm'!" he reprimanded lightly.

Draco didn't know why, but at this particular moment his desire to be unreasonable had soared to questionable heights. "That's a matter of opinion," he scoffed, and the next second, he was knocked to the ground as Harry tackled him.

"Take that back!" Harry demanded, making this whole situation feel very familiar.

"No!" the blond sneered, and using his slightly taller height to an advantage, he flipped them over and wrestled Harry so that the brunet was the one pinned to the ground. At this, Draco experienced a severe case of reversed déjà vu. He barely suppressed a gulp when he, once again, became aware of his close proximity to Harry. Now, he could even feel those muscles he had been eying working below him as Harry fought to get him off. He carefully held Harry down until he ceased his struggling and finally met Draco's gaze with his dark green one. Those eyes…they could just _do_ funny things to Draco's insides. Potter looked afraid and confused, and slowly, Draco let his guard down, allowing Harry to see how vulnerable he truly was as he displayed every conflicting emotion in his silver eyes, wanting Potter to see all of them.

"Draco…" Harry said softly, a look of panic crossing his face, and a shiver ran down Draco's spine. He wasn't sure if it was a plea, or a reprimand, or an invitation – he was too caught up in the moment to tell.

"Scared, Potter?" Draco whispered, and he knew Harry was fucking terrified – it was written all over his eyes.

And then Harry spoke. "You wish," he hissed.

And just like that, Draco lost all logical, rational thought to instinct and brought his lips crashing into Harry's. The Gryffindor let out a muffled yelp of surprise, clearly expecting something very different from a kiss – if it could even be called that. It really wasn't the best kiss Draco had ever had – Harry's lips were chapped and unmoving, unresponsive under his attack, and he was far too stiff – but the sensations that coursed through Draco's veins were incomparable to any former affairs and one-night-stands he had.

Draco felt Harry regain movement in his arms and then the brunet pushed him roughly, and the spell was broken as the reality of what he had done came crashing down on Draco. In horror, he recoiled, stumbling as Harry shoved him away, scrambling to get up but not yet regaining feeling in his legs. He had kissed _Harry Potter_. He, Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater and former bully and tormentor, had fucking kissed a horribly straight hero. This was wrong in so many, many ways, and Draco just knew he had ruined the whole thing. Harry would never look at him again. "Fuck, Harry, I…" he gasped, trying to explain as he finally managed to lift himself into a kneeling position.

Something snapped and changed in Harry's expression. Those expressive green eyes suddenly darkened, widening in surprise, and before Draco could get up and scurry away, he felt strong arms encircle his waist, holding him fast. "Say it again," Harry rasped, voice low and husky.

Draco shuddered visibly at Harry's tone. "Say what?"

"My name," Harry whispered. "Say it."

"Harry," Draco gasped, barely able to breathe.

Harry groaned and pulled Draco's mouth down to meet his, and this time it was fucking incredible. None of Draco's wildest fantasies could have ever conjured an image, an _emotion_ , as raw and powerful as this one. Harry's lips fit snugly into his as he fisted Draco's hair in his right hand and gripped Draco around the waist with the other. Draco moaned as Harry licked tentatively at his bottom lip, asking for entrance, and he gave it willingly. Their tongues wrestled in a battle for dominance and Draco's need to win took over as he plunged his tongue into Harry's hot mouth, exploring and kissing him with all he had, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss.

Harry kissed like the Gryffindor he was, giving as much as he got, reaching parts of Draco's mouth that he didn't even know existed. Fighting against the longing to just kiss him forever and ever, Draco tore his mouth from Harry's and slowly began pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw and neck, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he went so he could lick and suck at pebbled nipples. Harry groaned aloud, the sound shooting straight to Draco's already impossibly hard cock, as Draco nibbled them, then soothed them with his tongue. The sounds Harry was making were purely criminal, and it took all that Draco had not to come in his pants like some randy teenager. He bit into Harry's collarbone, marking the flesh, before Harry pulled him up and drew him back into a heated kiss.

 _This is so wrong_ , the part of Draco that could still reason whispered at the back of his head. _You're an ex-Death Eater – you're scum. He's the fucking Golden Boy and he's engaged to be married and you're supposed to be thinking about saving his fiancée. Wasn't his friendship enough?_

Hissing at those treacherous thoughts, Draco bit down exceptionally hard on Harry's lips, drawing blood and causing him to cry out. He would not think about those things now. There would be plenty of time for regrets later.

It was clear that Harry had never been with a man before, and Draco guided the hand tracing circles over his spine towards his crotch. Harry got the idea and fumbled with the zipper before slipping his hand inside. At the feel of a warm hand wrapping around his cock, Draco was on fire. He groaned, undoing Harry's trousers in turn as he rutted shamelessly into Harry's grip. He successfully disposed of both Harry's pants and boxers, and Harry kicked them off of his legs in a single, clumsy movement. Draco allowed himself a moment to stare at Harry's cock – it was shorter than his, but thicker, and leaking pre-come from the head, and just fucking beautiful.

Harry moved to pull Draco's shirt over his head, but Draco stopped him, suddenly frantic at the idea of Harry seeing his scars and Dark Mark. He couldn't explain this irrational panic, especially because Harry knew those marks were there, but that would make all of this (whatever it was) feel too real, and Draco wasn't sure if he could take that right now. Harry cocked an eyebrow in an impossibly sexy manner, but didn't have time to question it as Draco thrust his hips forwards experimentally. They both cried out at the first touch of cock on cock and ground against each other at a renewed, frantic pace. Harry brought his hips against Draco's, meeting him halfway with each stroke, his mouth panting openly against Draco's, his hot breath sweet on Draco's tongue. It was messy and a tangle of limbs and there was no rhythm and Harry was gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. It was nowhere near perfect, but Draco wouldn't have traded it for the world.

All too soon, it was over, and Harry let out a guttural cry that sent a jolt of sparks rushing through Draco's being. He only had a second to marvel at the sight of Harry coming undone, screaming Draco's name as his eyes rolled back in his head from lust and pleasure, before he, too, was coming, his head falling forward onto Harry's shoulder as he emptied himself onto Harry's and his own stomach, pearly white strings of their come mixing together.

Draco collapsed onto Harry, chest heaving as he fought for breath, breathing in the scent of Harry's skin. They lay like that for several minutes before Draco tried to roll off of Harry, but the Gryffindor was still gripping him tightly.

"Harry…we're lying on the floor," Draco gasped, as the ridiculous fact that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin had just messily frotted against each other on a hard wooden floor while naked from the waist down when there were two perfectly comfortable beds less than five feet away sunk in.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Harry replied, and he still sounded short of breath, which Draco took as a personal triumph. He wasn't going to complain about the discomfort in his limbs that stemmed from probably crushing Harry on a rather hard floor; in fact, he was perfectly content to stay this way forever. Eventually, however, Harry gasped, "Draco, you're suffocating me."

Draco relented, easing himself off the floor and pulling Harry up with him. They stumbled over to Draco's bed, which was nearer, and fell onto it. They lay in post-coital bliss for a few moments before Harry broke the silence again. "Do you want me to go?" It was a legitimate question, really – the bed was narrow and there was barely enough space for the two of them – but even though Harry's bed was mere feet away, Draco was afraid that if they slept apart, this would turn out to be nothing but a dream. "Draco?" Harry asked tentatively, and Draco realized he was still waiting for a response. As his answer, Draco rested his head against Harry's chest, snuggling up beside him. Harry laughed, and Draco eyed him quizzically.

"Draco Malfoy, a cuddler. Will miracles never cease?" he chuckled.

"Shut up," Draco snapped, as Harry's arms encircled him once more, and Draco reveled in how well he fit next to Harry. He knew this occurrence, whatever it was, had severe and dire consequences. He wasn't sure what they would be, but for now, he just wanted to live each moment as it happened. And if in this moment, he was meant to fall asleep in Harry James Potter, the Man-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Fucking-Die-Even-After-Being-Killed-Twice's embrace, he was fine with that.


	14. Commitment

Harry knew it wasn't real, it couldn't have been real, but he had to admit it was one of his most elaborate dreams yet. His eyes remained closed as he willed the dream to go on and on forever, but of course it didn't, and like it or not, Harry was slowly re-emerging into consciousness. He had always fought with sleep, never tried to encourage it, and so it was now that he realized clearly that trying to remain in dreamland when your body longed to wake up didn't work too well.

Sighing, Harry groaned reluctantly and allowed his eyes to open themselves. His vision swum for a few seconds and he felt a numb sort of strain on his right arm, as if he couldn't feel it but it hurt anyway. He took a deep breath, focusing his eyesight, and was shocked when his nose was assaulted with a rather delicious, light lavender scent, and nearly inhaled a mouthful of such-scented blond hair.

Harry nearly jolted out of his skin. _Draco_. Harry's lightly muscled body was curved lithely around Draco's delicate frame, in such a way that Draco's head was resting snugly on top of his right arm as he remained asleep in a semi-fetal position, possibly the source of the pins-and-needles sensation running up Harry's arm.

 _It wasn't a dream._ Harry didn't know whether he should be worried at the sheer, pure joy that soared through his heart at the realization, but he found himself grinning like an idiot. Reaching out with his left hand, he tentatively stroked Draco's hair, smiling at the almost inhuman silkiness. A few weeks ago, if someone had told him that he would be spooning Draco Malfoy in bed, he would have probably hexed their balls off for even having the nerve to suggest it. Now, however, was a completely different story.

Draco stirred lightly, and Harry stilled his movement, not wanting to startle him. It took a few moments, but he heard Draco yawn slightly, shuffle around a little in his grasp, and then stiffen completely. Harry rolled his eyes at the Slytherin's predictable reaction and gently leaned forward to nuzzle Draco's neck.

"Morning," he whispered into the spot behind Draco's ear, and Draco shuddered lightly.

"Potter," Draco replied stiffly, and Harry nearly laughed at the ironic fact that he was being forcedly formal towards Harry while they were both tangled up, naked, on his bed.

"Back to surnames, are we?" Harry smiled.

Draco pulled himself away from Harry, not bothering to look at him, and began rummaging for his pants, but Harry was faster. He pulled Draco back until he fell into his arms again, this time face first. Harry smiled, tipping up Draco's chin with his finger, forcing Draco to meet his eyes. He had expected this – the only drawback to ever getting close to Draco was that the man got scared off pretty easily, and tended to guard his heart a little too much for Harry's liking – but Harry was slowly learning how to deal with this.

"The dreaded morning after, hmm?" he teased when he finally got Draco's beautiful silver eyes to rest on his gaze.

Draco shook his head, trying to pull away. "Look, Potter, I don't know why that happened last night, but clearly…"

Harry didn't get to find out what was so clear, though, because he gently pressed his lips to Draco's, muffling all words. Harry expected a little resistance, but Draco just sighed and melted into the kiss, responding to Harry's mouth in something like desperation. It shouldn't have been possible, but Draco tasted of mint and sweetness and sweat, without a hint of morning breath, and all Harry wanted to do was kiss him forever. But that probably wouldn't happen, because liquid desire was pooling in Harry's stomach, and all he could think was _yes_ and _want_ and _more_ , and he could feel an answering hardness pressing against his thigh. He was trying to figure out exactly what to do next when Draco pulled away, causing an embarrassing, involuntary whimper of loss to ripple from Harry's throat. He tried to shake off his longing and focused on watching Draco's expression. There was a light frown on his face, and his features were laced with worry.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, wondering what could be troubling this confusing human being now.

Draco looked away. "What are we doing, Potter?" he whispered, and even though his eyes were glazed and betrayed his arousal, his expression was cautiously serious.

Harry frowned, pondering the question. "Firstly, it's Harry. Secondly, I'm pretty sure we're lying in bed in the wrong time. Thirdly, I'm not so sure what we were doing a few seconds ago, but I'd sure like to do more of that," he chuckled, trying to draw Draco back into his embrace.

He was unsuccessful as Draco squirmed away, scowling. "As questionable as your lack of intelligence is, _Harry_ , I suspect you know exactly what I meant."

Harry sighed, leaning back into his pillows, not exactly sure what to say. Draco snorted, assuming that Harry's lack of response meant the worst, and slid out from under the covers, pulling on a pair of boxers that were probably Harry's and storming away, slamming the bathroom door behind him before Harry could even say a word.

Falling back onto the covers and feeling rather useless, Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't make head or tail of Draco, and he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to. Waking up with different emotions coursing through him – confusion, elation, shock, bewilderment and fright in turn – seemed to be part and parcel of sharing a room with Draco, or at least waking up in the same bed as him.

Waking up with Draco was a bit like waking up to find oneself strapped onto a roller coaster ride. And Harry didn't mind one bit.

* * *

The hurt that wracked through Draco's frame was undeniably strong, overriding all senses of guilt and reason, just so _painful_ he couldn't think.

Somehow, he had managed to convince himself yesterday that getting Harry into bed would be a good idea, but now, for the life of him, he just couldn't think what had been so brilliant about it. There was that Weaselette, firstly, Harry's own fiancée, and then there was the consideration that he was an _ex-Death Eater_ and Harry was _fucking Saviour of the bloody Wizarding World._ A past like that couldn't just be left behind.

And Draco had known this would happen – he was being used. He was nothing but a dirty little secret, a convenient outlet for a sudden homosexual tendency that Harry had just discovered. Harry would never feel the same way about him, would never fall in love with him, or at least not in _that way_ , the way that made Draco ache to his very core at the thought of saving Ginevra and watching Harry marry her, the way that made him unable to deny Harry anything even if it hurt him like this.

"Draco…"

At the sound of his name being whispered like that – so _gently_ , as if that heavenly voice was caressing it, sounding so caring even when it obviously wasn't – Draco tensed and refused to turn to look at him, even as he heard the bathroom door swing open fully and footsteps approached him hesitantly. "Go away."

"Draco, tell me what's wrong."

 _Could he really be so blind?_ "Nothing is wrong, Potter. You can leave now, if you'd excuse me."

A sigh, and Draco felt hot breath skittering across his neck – Harry was close, right behind him. "Draco, we practically just shagged. I really don't know what else I have to do to get you to open up to me."

"It was a mistake, Potter," Draco said coldly. "We shouldn't have done it, not with this whole mission's purpose."

Silence. Ah. Draco resisted the urge to turn around and see his reaction.

"A…mistake?" There was definite fury in Harry's voice, and Draco inwardly flinched away from it.

 _Don't let it show._ "Yes, Potter. I am glad that your hearing abilities are still intact," Draco replied coldly, turning around but not looking at Harry, then making to leave the room, brushing his shoulder accidentally against Harry's. At the touch of his skin, Draco had to bite his lip to suppress the shudder that wracked through him so suddenly, robbing him of his ability to breathe.

Draco bravely strode out of the bathroom, proud of himself for his willpower and for not looking at Harry, for not giving into temptation, and moved to return to his bed, but he didn't make it very far. Before he knew it, he felt a strong arm grab the front of his shirt, and he suddenly found himself shoved against the wall roughly, the back of his head cracking against the sturdy brick.

"What…!" he began, but suddenly he couldn't trust himself to say anything else without his voice breaking, because Harry was very, very close, holding him in place, an absolutely beautiful look of anger flushing his face a gorgeous shade of red that contrasted wonderfully with the green of his eyes, and Draco was lost.

"Don't you fucking dare call it a mistake," Harry hissed, his voice low and dangerous and husky, and this time Draco couldn't suppress a shiver.

"It was," he insisted, trying to look threatening, even pinned helplessly to a wall. "Don't know what possessed me." His voice sounded flat and phony even to his own ears, but he bravely stared as coolly as he could into those perfect, perfect eyes.

"Don't tell me you didn't want it," Harry whispered, and Draco was surprised to hear his voice crack lightly before he cleared he throat and started again. "You wanted it."

Draco forced the lie right through his teeth. "No."

The look of fury deepened and Harry leaned in closer, breath ghosting over Draco's lips.

"Harry," Draco said quietly. "Harry, no. Don't."

"Swear to me you don't want this," Harry growled, his eyes challenging. "Swear to me."

Draco glared at him, took a deep breath, and even as his body screamed desperately for him, he heard the words leave his lips. "I don't."

Harry looked extremely frustrated, but he didn't let go of his death grip on Draco's shirt, instead tightening it even further. For a split second, Draco thought Harry was going to punch him.

And then, just like that, Harry's grip slackened, still holding him in place, but not strongly enough to keep him there against his will. "Then walk away."

That was certainly not what Draco had been expecting. He swallowed. "What?"

"Then walk away," Harry repeated. "Hit me. Hit me, then walk away." There was a challenge in that voice, almost like a dare. "I won't stop you."

Draco struggled with himself for a moment, trying not to be lured in by the hardness pressed into his thigh, and the beauty of that face, and the flashing of his eyes that sent Draco's blood rushing a little faster. And then…

 _To hell with it_ , Draco thought, and he grabbed Harry's face in his hands and fiercely closed the distance between them, pressing his lips roughly against Harry's. Harry didn't hesitate for a second, his arm coming to wrap around Draco's waist to pull him closer, instantly opening his mouth to Draco's almost desperate onslaught, tongues intertwining, and suddenly Draco was drowning, drowning from that delicious, sweet taste that he couldn't believe he had been missing out on for years and years and years.

"I hate you," Draco snarled through the kiss, a word escaping with each gasp.

Harry didn't miss a beat. "I hate you more," he rasped onto Draco's lips, and then Draco was kissing him again, unable to stop, just wanting all of this, all of him, _now_.

Draco somehow managed to maneuver them to his bed and push Harry gently down onto it without breaking the kiss, tongues still battling relentlessly for dominance, neither wanting to give in, but eventually Draco could feel his resolve breaking down and his want, his _need_ , to give himself completely to this man took over him.

Harry turned them over, flipping their positions, fingers trailing down Draco's sides, a hand coming down to grip his crotch. Draco bucked his hips into Harry's grasp, his body betraying his desire, cupping Harry's arse and forcing their hips to crash together, eliciting groans from both men. Running his hands over the smooth, bare skin of Harry's back, Draco somehow salvaged what was left of his willpower and detached his lips from Harry's.

"Harry…Harry, we can't keep doing this," he moaned, but Harry ignored him, slipping a hand inside Draco's boxers and stroking his already hard cock. "Harry…Harry, please…stop…"

Sighing, Harry stilled his movements, and Draco was torn between relief and disappointment. He knew he was sending mixed signals – insisting he didn't want Harry, then kissing him, then throwing him onto a bed, then pushing him off again – but his own emotions were so jumbled up he couldn't tell them apart. To be honest, he wasn't even sure what he himself wanted anymore.

"I didn't love her," Harry said quietly.

Draco stared up at him, eyes wide, barely daring to hope he had heard right but wanting it to be true so badly it hurt. "What?"

"I mean, of course I cared about her deeply," Harry amended. "But not in the romantic sense."

Draco backed up, putting as much distance as he could between Harry and himself while still remaining on the same bed, not sure how to take this news. "Then why the fuck are you risking your whole life to save her?"

"Are you being for real right now?" Harry cried, looking fairly exasperated. "She's my best friend! Just because I wasn't crazy for her doesn't mean I wouldn't risk my life for her."

"Ever the Gryffindor," Draco sneered, but his heart felt considerably lighter.

Harry shot him a glare that clearly meant he didn't want to kid around. "Look, I'm new to this whole time-altering thing, and what it will mean for…well…for _us_ , if I save her. But I do know that I never wanted to save her so I could marry her – I am going to save her because I want her to know the truth, and I want her to be happy and live a long life. Just not with me."

To be honest, Draco didn't know what the consequences of altering an event with such a big impact on their lives would result in, but he supposed that, for Harry, he was willing to try anything.

"Now are you done being difficult?" Harry scowled. "Or do I have to wait another hour before I can kiss you again?"

Draco couldn't help it – all of a sudden, a huge weight was lifted off of his chest, and he was smiling. "Hopefully we'll do more than just that," he replied, smirking, satisfied by the audible sound of Harry swallowing nervously. "Now come here." Without waiting for a reaction, he grabbed Harry forcefully and pulled them back together, and suddenly, this whole thing didn't feel quite so wrong anymore.

* * *

If Dumbledore found the discussion they had with him the next morning in any way out of the ordinary, he said nothing to state the fact. He had, instead, given them a rather indulgent smile that Draco wasn't afraid to admit creeped the hell out of him.

"The barmy old bat knows too much for his own good," Draco muttered to Harry as they walked, Disillusioned, back to their dorms. His observation was rewarded with a sharp whack to his shoulder.

"Be nice," Harry reprimanded as Draco winced and complained. "You're such a drama queen."

"You love it," Draco replied absentmindedly.

Harry ignored the assumption. "We just told him that we would accept his offer, but would stay until the last day before leaving. What did you think he was going to understand from that?"

"If he wasn't such a self-righteous, know-it-all buffoon –"

"–he would have handed us over to the Ministry without a second thought," Harry finished his sentence for him, sounding rather impatient. "I'm glad you got over your guilt enough to insult him constantly."

Draco wanted to argue, because those words stung a bit, but deep down he knew it was true. Dumbledore had been nothing but lenient to them since they first came to him, and, albeit grudgingly, Draco had to admit that it had been a good idea to come to him in the first place.

"Hey," Harry said suddenly, and Draco realized that they had already reached their shared dorm, and he still hadn't responded to Harry's words. Harry removed the Disillusionment charm as soon as they stepped inside and reached for Draco, cupping his face tenderly in his hands. "I didn't mean it like that."

Draco nodded, trying to tear his gaze away from those green eyes, but once again failing miserably in his attempt. "I know."

Harry smiled, giving him a sad little look that sort of tore Draco up inside. By some unspoken agreement, they hadn't talked about what was going to happen after they saved Ginevra, and Draco knew they probably never would. A part of him also realized that the chances of them still being together after altering such a huge event were slim, but he didn't want to think about that, not now, not when Harry was holding him like this, because he didn't know if he would ever, ever have this again.

But, _of course_ , the damned Gryffindor must have caught his expression for a split second. "Hey," Harry whispered again, gently leaning in, tiptoeing slightly and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Draco realized suddenly that tears had started to form, unwanted, in his eyes, and one escaped before he could stop it. Harry caught the it with his lips, kissing Draco's cheek where the tear fell. It suddenly felt too intimate for Draco – this was too much. He could handle the hurried handjobs and blowjobs and jerking each other off. Not this.

"Why are you always comforting me?" Draco sighed, knowing by now that trying to push Harry away wouldn't work, so he leaned into his kisses instead.

"Because I'm a Gryffindor prat," Harry replied without missing a beat. "Besides, I don't cry."

Draco drew back at that and barked a short laugh. "Liar," he accused.

"Gryffindors don't lie," Harry shot back, which was ironic because that statement was a lie in itself, and sat down on the bed, pulling Draco down into his lap.

"What, too manly to shed a tear?" Draco teased, biting down a groan as Harry kissed a tender spot on his neck.

Harry stopped what he was doing and glanced up. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm not being stubborn about it –"

"That's a first."

Harry swatted his arm playfully as a rebuke. "It's not that I don't _want_ to, it's that I just _can't_."

Draco frowned, not understanding what this all meant, and shifted to sit next to Harry so that he could see him properly. "Curse?" he questioned.

"No, nothing like that," Harry said hurriedly, and Draco couldn't help the small feeling of irrational relief that flooded through him. "I just haven't been able to, since fifth year."

Draco strained his memory. "Oh," he realized suddenly. _Your godfather. Aunt Bella._ "So, even when Ginevra…" He trailed off uncertainly.

"No," Harry replied, his voice surprisingly steady. "Merlin knows I wanted to, but I just couldn't."

Draco flinched, trying not to feel the sadness sweeping over him at Harry's confession. It didn't help that he felt as if Harry had just shared a private part of his life with Draco, and now Draco felt compelled to share something with him. If only he had something he was willing, or ready, to share.

He didn't, though, not right now. But maybe he would, someday. If that day ever came.

* * *

It was probably by another unspoken agreement that neither Draco nor Harry brought up the possible effects of their rescue mission for the next few days. Draco was sure they both knew they were avoiding the inevitable discussion, the soon-to-come heartbreak, the feel of a romance that should last forever but couldn't.

When Harry took the Time-Turner from Dumbledore three days later, Draco didn't even know what to say. Dumbledore whispered the spell that would start spinning the Time-Turner, and they bid him farewell before bringing it back to their dorm and Levitating it right above the dresser table, watching as each turn brought them closer to the one thing neither of them really wanted to happen.

The previous three days had been wonderful, everything Draco had ever envisioned and fantasized about and more – being woken up by an experimental Harry going down on his prick, rather erotic displays of eating that usually led to a frantic make-out and groping sessions, risky late night Seeker games on the school's brooms where they could only hope they wouldn't be seen, and, best of all, falling asleep in the crook of Harry's arm and waking up next to him each time. It was only three days, and there was so much they should have talked about, but Harry looked so happy that Draco couldn't bring himself to broach the more delicate subjects.

In exactly twenty-two hours now, the Time-Turner would stop turning and they would be whisked far away, back to reality.

Harry must have sensed Draco's unease and apprehension, because he wrapped his arms a little tighter around him. "Draco?" he asked, quietly.

Draco could never get over how his name sounded falling from those lips – as if it was safe in Harry's mouth.

"Yeah?" he replied.

Suddenly, Harry was kissing him, and it was so soft and gentle and more perfect than all the other ones they had shared, but it was also desperate and it hurt so much, but all Draco could think about was how well their lips fit together when they moved.

Draco ripped off Harry's shirt unceremoniously – he wouldn't need it anymore anyway – and ran his hands over the toned muscles, delighting in Harry's shudder and attempting to memorize the smooth plane of his stomach with his fingertips.

"Merlin, I want you," Harry whispered onto Draco's lips, fumbling with the buttons on Draco's green – yes, again – long-sleeved shirt. Draco halted suddenly, fear overcoming him. Despite all they had done over the past few days, he had yet to remove his shirt in Harry's presence. As weird as it sounded, Harry never questioned it, never tried to get him to take it off…well, at least, not till now. "Shh," Harry soothed, allowing his hands to snake under Draco's shirt before he could stop him. Draco moaned at the touch of Harry's warm hands on his stomach, slowly travelling upwards until...

Harry paused suddenly, eyes wide, as his hands came into contact with one of Draco's scars. Draco instinctively shied away from the touch, inching away ever so slightly, but Harry pulled him closer instead, fingers working the buttons of his shirt, disposing of it before Draco could so much as protest, and sat back, staring at the crisscross of marks that were slashed across Draco's chest, running his fingers gently over them so lightly it was more of a whisper, a ghost of a touch.

"Harry, don't..."

"I'm sorry," Harry choked, and he sounded so very broken that Draco couldn't help but want to hold him a little tighter. Gently, Harry pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length of his scars, apologizing tenderly for each one in turn. When he was finished, Draco pulled him back up into a desire-ridden, hungry kiss. When Harry pulled away, he glanced down at Draco's left arm, and Draco automatically covered the ugly mark with his hand, afraid of the inevitable reaction.

Then Harry did something that caught Draco completely off-guard, but also turned him on immensely. He leaned down, and, without a second's hesitation, _licked_ a thin stripe along the Dark Mark.

"H-Harry," Draco gasped, unable to fathom what had just happened, his heart bursting at Harry's unspoken acceptance.

"Shh," Harry whispered again, gently kissing a path from his arm back up to his lips. "So beautiful," he murmured against the hollow at the bottom of Draco's throat before capturing Draco's mouth in his own once more.

Draco's head was reeling. The feel of Harry's hands against his skin was a feeling he couldn't explain, far too overwhelming to even begin to comprehend. Draco had never had this done to him before – had never had his body _worshiped_ like this. With all of his short-lived affairs, kissing had just been a grudging form of foreplay – like it was _necessary,_ and couldn't be avoided, and it had never gone any farther than a mere minute. With them, it was just meet, fuck, come, leave. Nobody had ever taken the time to really _make love_ to Draco, to make him feel special.

And of course, it was just _typical_ , wasn't it, that the first person to get to do that to Draco would be Harry fucking Potter. And that thought alone nearly did him in on the spot.

In a sudden surge of passion, Draco growled, low in his throat, and flipped them over, reversing their positions so that he was on top. " _You're_ beautiful," he countered quietly, leaning down to take one of Harry's nipples between his teeth. Harry arched into his lips, groaning, and Draco couldn't hide the smirk forming on his mouth.

"Why do you...have to make...everything...a damn...competition?" rasped Harry.

Draco chuckled, not bothering to answer, instead biting down on Harry's other nipple, eliciting an aroused moan from his lover. Draco trailed kisses down Harry's body, undoing Harry's trousers as he came to them and throwing them off, revealing a tented pair of boxers. Draco looked up to gauge Harry's expression, then gave him his signature sneer and kissed the outline of his cock through the fabric.

Harry gasped, bucking his hips, but Draco held him down and carefully pulled off his boxers with his teeth, watching Harry's eyes widen impossibly with lust. Once they were disposed of, Draco gave Harry another evil grin, and proceeded to kiss his way down Harry's inner thighs, bypassing the place Harry most wanted him to kiss.

"Draco..." Harry groaned, his voice rising in a plea.

Draco ignored him, even though his mouth was watering, gently swiping a tongue over Harry's balls, resulting in a sharp intake a breath.

"Draco!" Harry cried, his voice desperate, begging.

Tormenting him further, Draco moved away, kissing back down his thighs.

"Draco, fuck, please...!"

Relenting, Draco bent down and licked a stripe up the bottom of Harry's cock, loving how Harry nearly cried out and fisted the sheets. Liking what he saw, in a swift motion, Draco bent down and took Harry into his mouth.

"Fuck!" Harry yelled, practically writhing beneath him. Draco hummed appreciatively, trying to take as much of Harry into his mouth as he could, fondling his bullocks in the process. His experience served him well, and it only took a few moments before he felt Harry's balls tighten in his grip. Quickly, Draco withdrew, smirking at the moan of loss that escaped Harry's mouth.

"Shite, Draco, I need you now..."

"Then take me," Draco whispered, laying down and pulling Harry on top of him.

Harry paused, glancing up, eyes widening with surprise when he understands the implication behind those words. "Are you...sure?"

Draco gritted his teeth and nodded. "I trust you," he said, and it frightened him how much truth there was in that statement. He had never trusted anyone so much in his entire life.

"Right." There was a tremble in Harry's voice, but for once, Draco didn't comment on it. "Tell me what to do."

"I don't know, Potter. Perhaps you should get my pants off first?" Draco drawled.

His statement was rewarded with a light slap on his arse. "Bastard," Harry chuckled, tugging off Draco's pants in a fluid motion – should Draco worry that he seemed to be good at getting his clothes off? – and Draco enjoyed Harry's startled and aroused gasp when he realized that Draco wasn't wearing underwear.

"Fuck," Harry swore.

"That's the general idea," Draco cut in, and Harry silenced him by grasping his cock in his hand. It worked – Draco suddenly found himself incapable of forming a coherent sentence. Harry brought him right over to the edge and then backed off, and Draco growled in protest.

"Help me out here, and then I'll help you," Harry said with a decidedly Slytherin-like smirk.

Draco fought to make his lust-intoxicated brain think. "Err...have you got any lube?"

"Yes, I'm sure there's plenty of that in an unused teacher's dorm," Harry replied sarcastically.

"The chances of that are higher than you might think." When Harry failed to react, Draco sighed, grabbing Harry's right hand with force and snapping, "Oh give me that."

Harry's eyes widened in shock as Draco closed his eyes and wrapped his lips around Harry's fingers, sucking on each of them with gusto and running his tongue along them. As Harry stared, mesmerized, at those pink lips engulfing his fingers, Draco opened his captivating grey eyes and looked back up at him, and they both nearly came right there and then – Harry at the erotic display, Draco at the look of lust in Harry's eyes.

Slowly, when he felt that they were wet enough, Draco released Harry's fingers. "One at a time," he instructed, trying to keep his voice steady but probably failing. A moments pause, then Draco felt Harry's finger probing at this entrance, and he let out a sharp intake of breath as it breached him, slowly.

"Fuck," Harry gasped. "You're so tight."

"Shit," Draco returned eloquently, as Harry gently twisted his finger within him and he clenched his arse around it. It had been a long while since he'd last bottomed, and he needed some time to get used to it. After a minute, he exhaled loudly. "You can add another."

Harry groaned, sensual voice low with longing, and Draco felt another finger entering him, scissoring him slightly. He hissed in slight pain, and Harry, being the fucking Gryffindor he was, murmured a hasty apology.

"Go on," Draco whispered as the pain turned into a dull sort of pleasure. "One more."

Harry nodded, worrying his bottom lip, inserting another finger carefully, as though afraid Draco might break.

"I'm not fucking made of glass, Potter!" Draco hissed, rocking his body impatiently against Harry's fingers, trying to get more of that delicious full feeling.

Harry gave a him half-apologetic, half-amused look, and then began to fuck Draco with his fingers, sliding them in and out with a little more ease as the muscles loosened around him. Draco was beginning to think that sex with Harry would be more of the gentle making love type, seeing as the pleasure that ran through him was setting him on fire slowly and not igniting him immediately, but then Harry hit something within him and he let out an embarrassingly loud cry.

"What was that?" Harry asked, as if trying to decide whether the shout had indicated something good or bad.

Draco couldn't draw up enough sense to answer properly. "Again," he gasped, thrusting his hips to try and pull Harry's fingers back to that spot that sent sparks flying throughout his blood. Harry took the hint and angled his fingers to brush that sweet spot again, and Draco found himself mewling under his ministrations. "Fuck, I need you, I need you now..." he moaned, aware that he sounded like he was begging and not minding in the least bit. He almost regretted it when Harry withdrew his fingers, but then felt something much larger pressing up against his hole. In all his ecstasy, Draco forgot to remind Harry to take it slow, but he didn't need to – the considerate Gryffindor was easing his way in gently, even though the tight heat of Draco's arse must have been almost too much for him to bear.

Draco wiggled experimentally, trying to get used to Harry's size, eliciting a groan from Harry. "Fuck...you're so fucking tight..." he hissed, obviously making a huge effort not to slam right into him. Slowly, Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's waist and gritted his teeth.

"Move," he said.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. In a swift movement, he pulled back and rammed deep into Draco, and both men groaned at the feel of each other. Bending down, Harry captured Draco's lips in a kiss that was surprisingly sweet in contrast to current activities. Draco could feel Harry experimenting with different angles, trying to find that spot again, and then...

"Ah!" Draco screamed and arched his back as Harry found it, hot breath mingling together as Harry pulled nearly all the way out before slamming in again, leaving Draco writhing beneath him and crying out incoherently, begging for _fasterhardermoreyes_. His eyes fell shut as Harry battered his prostate, giving Draco a whole new perception of fucking someone senseless as Harry grabbed his cock and began pumping it in time to his thrusts.

"Look at me," Harry whispered. Draco opened his eyes, pupils blown open, and met Harry's lust-filled, yet somehow still tender green gaze. It was far too much for Draco, and a powerful surge of pleasure rushed through him as he came in Harry's hand.

Harry continued to thrust into him, holding tightly onto Draco as he rode out his high. Draco gently cupped Harry's jaw in his palm and pressed their lips together. "Come for me, Harry," he whispered, and Harry did, crying out a jumbled garble that resembled Draco's name, emptying himself into Draco before collapsing on top of him.

"Harry...can't...breathe..." Draco complained, and Harry rolled off of him with a grunt. Draco winced as he felt Harry slip out of him. "Ouch," he protested.

"You're such a baby," Harry sighed, wrapping his arms tenderly around his lover with a long-suffering look on his face.

"Get used to it," Draco shot back sleepily, but didn't get to hear Harry's reply as he fell into slumber with Harry gently stroking his hair.

* * *

Harry watched as Draco fell asleep, feeling a strange mixture of feelings bubbling within his heart as he tenderly pressed a kiss to his temple. It might have only been three days that they had been in this...well, whatever this was...but Harry didn't want it to end. Already, he was starting to regret never realizing he was gay sooner.

Memories flashed through his brain of the past mere three days. Catching Draco staring at him, watching as Draco blushed and smiled and looked away. Sneaking out late at night when nobody would see them and playing a Seeker's game out on the Quidditch field, watching the wind rustling Draco's hair and longing to run his fingers through it. The way Draco would find his way into Harry's arms every night, rest his head on Harry's chest, and curl up adorably each time with a light smile playing on his lips.

Could anybody fall so hard for someone this fast?

Harry was uncertain as to what would happen next, and how it would all turn out if they saved Ginny, but he knew one thing for sure – he didn't want them to become strangers again. Especially not strangers with memories, because those were the types that hurt the most.


	15. Unexpected

Draco woke up first, and saw three things almost immediately – number one, the Time-Turner was still turning, two, the _Tempus_ charm Harry had cast was hovering over the bed and showed that they had ten hours left, and three, Harry was asleep, breathing softly next to him, arms wrapped tightly around Draco.

Pressing a light kiss to Harry's cheek, Draco inhaled his warm, comfortable scent, and realized with a jolt that he had never felt so at peace in all his life, even as the impending threat of losing each other was hanging right over their heads and getting closer with each spin of the Time-Turner.

Harry was truly beautiful, he realized, in a way he had never noticed before. Not in the conventional way, perhaps, and not by appearances alone. Draco had been aware that Harry was gorgeous for a long time, but this time, when he looked at Harry, he saw his beauty in a different way – not in looks, and not in what he had. Just in everything that he was.

He wasn't by any means perfect, oh, no. He was annoying, and clueless, and possibly the world's most persistently ignorant arsehole. He made Draco want to scream and fall apart, and he had the power to ruin Draco's day with just one careless word, and then save it with just one little kiss. He was crazy and an insufferable Gryffindor hero and took up most of the space in Draco's brain which could have been occupied with more pressing matters, and Merlin, Draco _hated_ him so bad, but he was everything Draco had ever wanted and everything he could have ever dreamed of. A little exchanged conversation with Harry meant more to Draco than all the material things Galleons could buy, and Salazar knew Malfoys valued material things.

So, again, Harry was by no means perfect, but he was _Draco's_ kind of perfect, and was what made him so impossibly incredible.

* * *

Harry awoke to the feel of smooth fingers trailing along his skin. The _Tempus_ charm floating above his head told him that they had nine hours left. Averting his gaze from the countdown, Harry turned his head to smile down at Draco, who was still curled up in his chest, and was tracing patterns on Harry's skin with his fingertips. Harry wondered vaguely if his heart would ever stop caving in when he looked into Draco's eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching down to stroke Draco's pale blond hair.

Draco smiled a small smile that sent Harry's heart aflutter. "Hey," he replied, then went back to running his hands along Harry's stomach and chest.

Harry thought that maybe there was something he should say, something to reassure the both of them, or something to prepare them for what lay ahead, but he didn't know what that something was, so he kept quiet and watched the play of alabaster skin against his own.

Time ticked by slowly, and Harry knew that there would be no confessions of love spoken, even though they were both afraid of what was to come, because laying together like this on Draco's bed said all the things they would never be able to put into words.

All of a sudden, Harry found himself wishing that he could somehow freeze time, because if there was any time he would love to be caught in forever, now would be it.

* * *

For the next few hours, they did nothing but enjoy each other's company. They took a shower together, making love under the steady stream, whispering each other's names like a prayer as they came, drinking in the feel of their lover. They ate a leisurely meal while Disillusioned in the kitchen while making small talk about nothing in particular, discovering even more about each other and falling even farther into love. They walked around the school grounds, still virtually invisible, hand-in-hand, listening to all the things that weren't said in silence. They kissed under the trees on the grounds, laughed at the younger students' antics and held each other while looking over the lake.

Neither broached the topic of love, loss or their mission. Both were too afraid of losing the other to even think about it. They both knew that by saving Ginny, Harry's past self would have no reason to befriend Draco's, and they were risking altering their entire past, present and future to save her. Before, they hadn't cared. But now…

As the hour drew nearer and nearer, and time grew short, they got closer and closer until each was nearly clinging to the other, neither understanding what it was they'd found, but both knowing that it was the best thing that had happened to them.

* * *

Five minutes to go.

Draco and Harry sat side by side, fully dressed, not uttering a single word, but sitting together quietly on Draco's bed. Draco could feel Harry watching him, but settled for burying his face in Harry's shoulder, not wanting to meet the expressive gaze. All Draco wanted was to be with Harry. He _needed_ him, and somehow, he had managed to convince himself that if he held on tight enough, they would find a way to be together.

"Draco, it's time." Harry's voice broke the moment, and Draco tore himself from Harry's arms, nodding singularly. Without a word, the pair stood up and walked over to where the Time-Turner was. Harry lifted the Time-Turner, careful not to interrupt its spinning, and held it out between them.

Draco struggled to find words to say, to comfort Harry, to say that everything was going to be okay, but he had never been the comforter here, had he? "Harry..." he began.

And then Harry kissed him, pulling him in and pressing their mouths together. Their lips moved in a silent synchrony, as if dancing to a swan song. Draco closed his eyes, drinking in Harry's taste and his scent and everything that was just so _Harry,_ the things he would miss the most if they failed. He almost wished Harry would say something, to reassure him, because Merlin knew he needed it right now.

Then they broke apart, and everything Draco had ever wanted to hear from Harry was written in his bright, emerald green eyes.

And then the world spun and Draco felt himself falling.

* * *

Harry gasped and stumbled slightly, nearly losing his balance as the world seemed to swim back into view around him. Grabbing onto something that felt like a table, he steadied himself, slowly regaining feeling in his limbs.

It took several moments for Harry's eyesight to clear, and after a moments deliberation, during which he fervently tried to get his bearings, he recognized the room he was in.

It was his apartment's living room. He hadn't been in it for what felt like ages, but it still felt as cold as it had when he left. He knew his past self was asleep in his bedroom, blissfully unaware of Harry's presence. But where was Draco? For a moment, Harry felt terror wrack through him - had something gone wrong? - but quickly recalled Draco's words to him at the beginning of their little adventure. _When you travel through time, Potter, you end up in the same place your past self was at the time…I will meet you in front of the diner, because it's on your way to the bridge._

Tiptoeing as silently as he could so as not to alert his sleeping form, Harry slid open the front door and walked out into the hallway, running down the stairs quickly and skipping steps in his hurry to reach the diner. It was about three blocks away, not too far, but suddenly Harry felt as if he couldn't get there fast enough.

Harry ran down the street, oblivious to stares and mutters from the people he rudely pushed past as he craned his neck, searching for Draco. After what felt like forever, he reached the diner and observed it from afar, still keeping an eye out for a certain pale blond, but none was to be seen. Through the window of the diner, Harry could just make out a girl standing at the counter with long brown hair flowing past her shoulders yelling something over her shoulder.

Harry's breath caught in his throat when he saw Draco emerge from what was probably the kitchen – but it was the past Draco, wearing a green apron (did the man own any other colour?) and looking both exasperated and amused at whatever the girl had just said. Even from a distance, Harry mused to himself, Draco was definitely perfection in every sense of the word.

A tall figure darted out from the alleyway between the diner and a bar, and Harry exhaled with elation when he saw that it was the Draco he had been waiting for. The blond came running up to him, dashing across the street, dodging traffic and coming to rest at Harry's side.

"Draco," Harry said, his voice filled with relief.

Draco gave him a smile, but looked mildly annoyed. "Harry, we're late. We have to run or else we won't make it," he uttered seriously.

Harry nodded, and Draco grabbed his hand as the pair sprinted towards the bridge. They received several odd looks from passersby, but Harry wasn't sure if it was because they were running so hastily or because they were two men holding hands.

The bridge loomed in front of them, and Harry spotted the taxi with the licence plate he was looking for. "There!" he exclaimed urgently, drawing Draco's attention to said vehicle. "That's the one!"

Draco gave a small noise of acknowledgement and they rushed towards it, trying to catch up with it. Harry couldn't risk casting a spell at such a great distance – he would probably miss and they would definitely be seen – but the taxi was still quite far away, and he was getting a little desperate.

Draco seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts, because he tightened his grip around Harry's hand. "Not yet."

Obediently, Harry released his wand, leaving it in his pocket, and they continued to dash through pedestrian traffic as they made their way up the sidewalk, just as Ginny's taxi turned into the bridge. Together, the pair crossed the road, barely paying attention to their surroundings.

And then, Draco's hand slipped from Harry's as he tripped over a hole in the road.

Harry spun around, nearly screaming when he realized that another taxi was zooming right towards Draco. He would never make it to him in time.

Just at the last moment, the taxi driver noticed Draco and swerved, angling the taxi onto the bridge, and promptly lost control of his car, sending it spinning without direction across the road.

It happened so fast that neither Harry nor Draco would ever truly be able to recount the exact incidents of that day. All Harry knew for certain was the taxi rammed right into Ginny's before it could stop spinning around.

The last thing Harry remembered seeing before hearing his own cry of horror mingling with Draco's, was Ginny's taxi tumbling over the edge of the bridge and into the cold, dark water below.


	16. Estranged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentences in italics at the beginning of this chapter are from the Novikov self-consistency principle, just in case anyone was curious.

_If an event exists that would give rise to a paradox, or to any "change" to the past whatsoever, then the probability of that event is zero. Nothing can be changed by Time Travel because anything a Traveller does merely produces the circumstances they had noted before Traveling._

It was only now that a Muggle principle that Draco had heard of over his time spent outside of the Wizarding World popped back into his head, reminding him painfully of the huge mistake they had both just made.

_I killed her. I killed Ginevra Weasley, fiancée of the Man Who Lived Twice. It was me the whole time._

Harry was staring at the water below, where the taxi had plunged in, watching, unable to move, as it slowly, gradually sank beneath the surface, completely powerless to save the woman he was supposed to marry. And suddenly, Draco felt broken, like he was going to cry. Harry would never be able to look at him after this.

And then Harry looked up, and beautiful green eyes met his own grey ones, and Draco saw into that easily-read gaze, and he swore that in that moment he could see right through him to the depths of Harry's soul. And the expression in those eyes was one of pure hurt, of guilt and sadness and hope lost.

_Oh Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry._

A sound escaped Draco's throat, and suddenly Draco couldn't look at him anymore. Without saying a word, he turned and ran through the crowd.

Shock didn't even begin to describe how Harry was feeling. Pain couldn't begin to cover it. And the guilt he felt before was nothing compared to that which he felt now.

Harry couldn't stop himself from staring as the taxi disappeared beneath the waves. He was only dimly aware of the people surrounding the scene, barely registering the fact that he could be recognized later on, not even caring that people were screaming, only caring that it was he who had killed Ginny.

He heard a dry, strangled sort of sob and looked up just in time to see Draco turn and run.

The sight of the blond fading away instantly jolted Harry back to reality, and the feeling came back to his legs as he dashed after him. "Draco!" he called loudly. "Draco!" But Draco never turned around, and soon Harry had lost him in the crowd.

In that moment, his entire world shattered. Not only had he realized that he had been the cause of Ginny's death, he had also seen the man he cared most about run away from him. How would Draco ever be able to look him in the eye again?

Numbly, Harry sank down onto the sidewalk, the harsh sting of pain stabbing at his heart. He buried his face in his hands as everything fell apart around him, trying not to worry as little pieces of him fell to the ground and scattered along the pavement.

* * *

The next few days passed by in a crawl. Neither man could return to their homes, seeing as their past selves were still inhabiting them, and although the desire to stop the future from happening was nearly unbearable, both tried their best to contain it by hiding in little motels and shacks. They whiled away the time in their own little ways, separately, trying to keep their minds off of things. Harry, for example, seemed to have taken it upon himself to find Draco. Draco, on the other hand, had decided that trying not to kill himself was as hard a task as he could manage, and didn't go out of his room at all.

Draco had seen Harry searching for him, watched him out of the window of the motel he was hiding in as he looked. He had seen past-Harry, too, for those first few days, and had carefully kept out of his way. Draco knew that if he stumbled across him or met him face to face, he wouldn't be able to resist telling past-Harry not to ask for past-Draco's help. He wouldn't be able to resist messing up the past even further than it had already been messed up.

After his past self left with past-Harry, Draco tried to move back into his house, but Harry had knocked on his door for three days in a row and it was too much for him, so he stayed in a motel overnight, trying not to care.

After a week, Harry stopped completely, and Draco returned to his house. Until now, he hadn't realized how bloody green the place was. Merlin, what had he been thinking, designing his place like this? Surely he was a disgrace to gays everywhere.

Draco worked in the diner every day, just going through the motions. He kept his eye out for Harry, just in case, but he never came, and Draco didn't know whether to feel upset or relieved.

It was a Friday night when Draco found himself sitting alone at a corner of his diner, looking over receipts and paperwork. Sometimes, he found that if he immersed himself hard enough in his work, he didn't think about Harry at all. Sometimes.

The smell of something sweet and possibly chocolaty and fattening filled his lungs, and Draco figured that his cashier and assistant, Eugenia, was making a sinful dessert for herself. Knowing her, she would probably be making one for Draco too, because usually on nights like this he would demand that she do so anyway, but tonight he just wasn't in the mood. She wasn't too bad, Eugenia. She was a Muggle, and just over eighteen, but very efficient, and probably Draco's only friend in this Merlin-forsaken world. And of course, it didn't hurt that she was attractive enough to get a few extra male customers in every day. Unfortunately, none of them stood a chance with her – she had been in a painful, on-off relationship for a long time, with someone who she claimed was the man of her dreams. Draco didn't believe her in the slightest – how could the person you were meant to be with hurt you so much?

But then again, who was he to talk about such things? The thought made him even more miserable and he groaned, watching as the figures on his papers danced blurrily in and out of his suddenly tear-stained vision. Frustrated with himself, he blinked those traitorous drops of water away.

"What, even chocolate won't tempt you? He must be really special."

Draco glanced up as said assistant dropped down into a chair right across him, holding two plates of brownies. "I beg your pardon?" he questioned, in that polite manner pureblood tradition had taught him.

Eugenia sniffed, tossing her long brown hair back over her shoulders as she eyed his serious but weary expression. "You heard me. I haven't seen you this depressed since...well...ever."

Stiffening slightly, Draco forced himself to look back down at his paperwork, ignoring the brownie she placed strategically in front of him. Just the thought of eating anything right now made him feel sick. "What are you babbling incessantly on about?"

She chuckled. "I love it when you talk dirty," she grinned, earning a scowl from her boss. She always enjoyed poking fun at his supposedly posh language. "Anyway, just because I'm young and naïve, as you keep reminding me, doesn't mean that I was born yesterday."

Draco quickly realized that she knew him well enough to see right through a direct lie, so he settled for a half-truth. "Minor breakup, one of those more serious affairs, but still nothing special. It just lasted longer, so it takes a while to get used to." He waved a hand airily in dismissal. "Give me a night, I'll get over it."

Eugenia snorted, not looking in the least bit convinced, but rearranged her features into something resembling mock-sympathy nonetheless. "I understand. It's not every day that you find someone who can put up with your bullshit."

Draco sighed, leaning back in his seat. "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that he must have been some guy to get by your standards and have you refusing your sweets," she replied without even batting an eyelash, and took a bite of her treat, as if to emphasize the point. She knew all about his affairs and knew each and every single guy he hooked up with by name, from the meaningless one-night-stands – just in case Draco forgot what to call them when he let them down gently – to the more drawn out semi-relationships that failed anyway. Draco had a few of those in the past few years, with Muggles and Wizards alike, but most of the magical folk didn't want to get in trouble for dating an ex-Death Eater, and many of the Muggles realized that he had a few hang-ups too many, so all of them had given up after a while. Draco couldn't really blame them – he wasn't an easy man to understand, being a Slytherin and all – and besides, his heart had always belonged to someone else. It was a pity that Mr Someone Else didn't want it anyway.

Eugenia cleared her throat, clearly waiting for a response, and Draco snapped out of his thoughts. Trying to look threatening, Draco glared at her before resuming his paperwork, using it as an excuse to not meet her searching, warm brown gaze. "I hate to contradict you, but he wasn't that special at all. Worse than all the others, in fact. By far." The lie slipped out of his throat with the practised ease of a true Slytherin. "He only ever listened to half a sentence, he insulted me half the time and he wasn't even a half-decent kisser."

"That's a lot of 'half's," Eugenia noted, finishing off the last of her cake with a smirk.

Draco shot her his best if-you-don't-shut-up-right-now-I-might-have-to-fire-you look. "Here's another one – I don't give half a shit about him. It's the rejection that bothers me, really – stings my ego a bit."

Eugenia laughed, throwing her head back and giggling as she shook with chuckles. Draco stared at her, trying to figure out what he had said that was so darned funny, and she calmed down for a split second, only to burst out laughing once again.

Exasperated and annoyed, he finally barked, "What?"

She immediately stopped giggling, all humour on her face gone and replaced by something that almost resembled sadness. "Oh, just admit it," she sighed, starting to help herself to Draco's untouched brownie. Draco absentmindedly wondered how she stayed so skinny while eating like that. "You give a fuck about him, and you miss his fucking arse."

Draco flushed, opening his mouth, then closing it again when he realized he had nothing to say.

Eugenia let out a short sigh, reaching around and grabbing a couple of glasses off of the adjourning table, and poured them both some alcoholic beverage from a bottle taken off the shelf hammered into the wall. Draco wasn't sure what it was, but he found himself gladly reaching for his glass.

She allowed him to down his glass before refilling it and speaking again. "So, spill. Who's this guy?"

Draco sighed as he swirled his drink in his glass, not sure where to begin. "I…we went to school together. I always liked him, but we were…on completely different sides of things. It could never work out, and that hurt, so I tried to hide it by being mean to him. I bordered on cruel, actually…I was like his personal tormentor. I don't know why, really." He paused, thinking about it.

"Maybe it's just much easier to hurt someone than to admit that you're in love with them," Eugenia offered, tipping her glass to him. He noticed that she still hadn't touched it.

"Must you have an answer to everything?" Draco sighed. If she had been a witch, she would have definitely been a Ravenclaw. Or perhaps a Slytherin, seeing as she was so good at getting her way.

"Sorry," she smirked, not looking sorry at all. "Admitting it is the first step to recovery. So, you care. Go on." She smiled encouragingly.

Draco took a deep breath before continuing. "Recently, I saw him again, and by some miracle, he didn't hate me anymore. I think he actually liked me, for a while. But then I went and fucked it all up again and now I don't know what to do. I think I've lost him. And, if it satisfies you, yes, I do miss his arse. In more ways than one."

He had the minor satisfaction of watching her splutter. "Too much information," she snapped.

Draco snorted, unconcerned. "You deserve it, you manipulative little shit."

Chuckling, she finally took a sip of her beverage. "I'll drink to that."

They sat in silence for a while, Eugenia eating her sweet treat, Draco staring at his papers without really seeing them. An emptiness overwhelmed him as he finally allowed himself to feel again.

"Fuck, I do miss him," he groaned, his face falling forward and clunking onto the table. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"We've already established that you give a lot of those," she joked, gentling reaching over and tilting his chin up.

Despite himself, Draco laughed, albeit sadly. "You shouldn't miss people who don't miss you, right?"

Eugenia sighed, gazing out the window and suddenly looking wistful before looking back at him with an understanding form of softness in her eyes. "The simple fact is, honey, that we're all missing someone, and hoping that they miss us too."

Draco looked up at her, watching her serious expression morph back into a good-natured one, and made a mental note to hex the balls off of her so-called boyfriend.

"You deserve to be happy, you know?" Draco said.

"I know. You do too."

Draco smiled and shook his head. "I'm not the happy type. I'm more of the make-a-million-stupid-mistakes-then-regret-it-and-live-on type."

Eugenia laughed at that. "I can only imagine." She took a swig of her drink and grinned. "Cheers." Standing up slowly, she cleared the plates and walked off, back into the kitchen, tossing him an encouraging smile over her shoulder before disappearing through the door.

Shoving his papers aside, Draco laid his head down on his hands, feeling so painfully exhausted. The more he thought about it, this whole situation, the more he felt like breaking down in tears. And the worst part was that he knew that Harry wasn't crying over him, because the damned bastard couldn't cry, and even if could, he probably still wouldn't anyway.

* * *

Harry tossed and turned in his cold, empty bed. He was so tired that he could barely hoist himself onto his feet anymore, but no amount of sleep could cure the weariness that he felt.

It had been an entire month since Harry had last caught wind of Draco. He had searched high and low for the first few days, but hadn't been able to find the blond. Then, when he was sure it was safe, he had run straight to Draco's house and very nearly banged the door down, but it was clear that Draco was ignoring him, that Draco didn't want him around anymore.

Inside, Harry berated himself for being so stupid to think that Draco wanted this as much as he did. He was clearly just treating Harry as another one of his damned affairs, and once it went wrong, Draco had his excuse to leave. Simple as that.

Harry felt more than a little guilty for the fact that he felt worse about losing Draco than about practically causing Ginny's demise.

There was a knock at the door, and Harry sighed to himself. It was probably Ron or Hermione coming in to check on him, as they had been doing several times over the past two weeks. He had decided not to tell them about what he had done to Ginny – Ron would never speak to him again, and could Harry really afford to lose someone else he cared about right now? – but he _had_ told Hermione half the truth about Draco.

_Hermione's face was grim as Harry told her about meeting Draco again. He left out the part about the Time Turner, because that would be too hard to explain, but told her everything else – bumping into him after the funeral, searching for him again later, growing closer, and then falling apart. Of course, Harry couldn't tell her exactly why they had fallen apart. He just said that he had made a mistake and scared him off, but wasn't ready to talk about that mistake yet._

" _I really fell for him, Hermione. Really hard. And for a while, I think he did feel the same way. But then I went and fucked it all up, and I guess he took that as his cue to leave."_

_Hermione looked down at the cup of tea Harry had given her. She hadn't taken so much as a sip since Harry began his carefully edited story. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Ron wouldn't have minded, you know, if he knew you were...gay. And I certainly don't care, and I think we both might've accepted it, if you told us about this a little later, if this hadn't happened so soon after Ginny..." She trailed off, eyes glazing in memory for a brief moment, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Ginny had been Hermione's confidant for years._

" _I know," replied Harry._

_Sighing, Hermione set her mug aside and looked him in the eye properly for the first time since his tale began. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry, I really am. But someday, you'll find that person who will make you understand why it never worked out with anyone else."_

" _What if I've already found him?" Harry asked, bitterly._

_Hermione shook her head, lips pursed in a tight line. "I don't think so, Harry. It's Malfoy, after all. He's only ever going to hurt you."_

" _But..." Harry stopped himself, deciding not to argue with her. Merlin knew it was impossible to win. But deep down, Harry knew it was the other way around. He had hurt Draco._

Harry knew Hermione wasn't really as concerned as she seemed. Sure, she was upset that Harry had gotten himself hurt all over again, and so soon after losing Ginny, but she definitely didn't think that Harry's feelings for Draco had been real. She probably thought that just because he didn't cry over him meant he didn't miss him all that much. What she didn't know was that invisible tears were the hardest to wipe away.

The knocking continued, and Harry exhaled loudly. "It's open," he called as he put on a shirt and pulled on some trousers from the floor. He knew he would probably get a lecture from Hermione regarding his sloppiness, but he figured that anything said to him right now wouldn't really sink in anyway.

He heard footsteps pacing into his apartment, followed by the sound of the door closing with a soft click. Forcing a comb through his hair, Harry added, "I'm in here!" A slight sound of shuffling feet, then the footsteps started moving towards his bedroom. "Sorry about the mess," he said as he tossed the comb blindly onto his bedside table, then started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, doing up the last one before turning around. "I haven't had the mood to clean since..." He trailed off as he spun to face the person standing in his room. His jaw dropped, and he found himself trailing between confusion and elation at the jolt that ran through his body.

Ginny.

"What...I..." Harry couldn't bring himself to speak as he stared at his ex-fiancée. She was just as he remembered her to be – long locks of red hair cascading down her back as she tucked it behind her ear with a fair-skinned hand, dark eyes flashing with uncertainty and that same fierce determination Harry had once been in love with, small frame shaking only slightly to betray her anxiety. She looked too real to be a dream, too alive to be a ghost...

"Harry," she whispered, in that same voice he remembered so clearly and distinctly from his memories.

Harry had to admit, it was a pretty convincing hallucination. He really needed to get to St. Mungo's, though, and check himself for brain damage from excessive Time Travel and depression.

"Harry," she said again, taking a step towards him, and gently leaning forward to brush away a stray strand of raven hair that was falling messily over his forehead.

Wow, this illusion was incredible – he could even feel it!

"Harry, I'm so sorry," she said, voice breaking slightly, trembling only a little before she steadied it again, so brazen, so reluctant to cry.

This was too real, too detailed – he could smell the scent of her favourite shampoo, see the hard look in her eyes, feel the soft touch of her skin. "This...you're real," Harry gasped as the realization came crashing down on him. "You're alive."

"I'm alive," Ginny said. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

"What...why?" Harry couldn't understand, and almost didn't want to. They might have never found her body, but he had lost hope of her return a long time ago. And here she was, looking perfectly fine, dressed immaculate, apart from the slight crease of her dress where her fists clenched it.

"I...I could still perform wandless magic," she admitted. "Not well, but I was able to conjure a little air bubble charm, but then I was unconscious..."

"Why didn't you come back to me?" Harry asked, and he could hear the defeat and anger slowly seeping into his voice.

"I was saved," she said quietly, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "By Dean Thomas."

Harry gaped at her, stumbling back until he fell backwards on the bed in a sitting position. "Dean Thomas," he repeated monotonously, still unable to comprehend what was going on.

"I...I..." She gave up trying to explain herself and walked over to him, plopping down next to him unceremoniously. "Let's start by admitting that neither of us really loved each other, Harry. Not in that way, not in the way we should have."

Harry stared at her, torn between relief and shock, and nodded.

"Now let's move on to the fact that you were clearly trying to do the right thing, like you always do, and make everyone happy." She didn't wait for his response this time, pressing right on, "And you're gay."

Harry choked. "What?"

"You didn't know? Well, you are. I've seen you accidentally eying a few guys' arses," Ginny stated matter-of-factly, and Harry couldn't keep in a near-hysterical laugh.

"I know now," he admitted.

She took a deep breath. "Harry, I can't justify what I did. I met Dean and we kind of fell in love all over again. And I know everything...I saw you and Malfoy running towards me. I saw him trip, I saw him fall. I know you've been blaming yourself, and let me tell you, Harry, it wasn't your fault. I'm not really sure I fully understand what happened, because I can't imagine how you and _Malfoy_ of all people would be on the bridge when I left you sleeping at home, and I certainly don't know _why_ you were there. But..." She looked away, then back at him. "I know there was something...more than friendship between you two."

"How can you tell that?" Harry hissed, suddenly suspicious that she had already spoken to Draco.

"Are you kidding, Harry? You were holding his hand."

"Oh. Right."

Ginny chuckled, but quickly grew serious again. "I know how much you hate the press. I know what a high-society separation between the Chosen One and his childhood sweetheart will do to the front pages of all the newspapers in the Wizarding World." Closing her eyes, she looked away. "I thought...that if I disappeared...you would eventually be able to move on. And when you finally got a guy or something, people would merely say that you've moved on, or speculate that you could never be with another girl because of me. In short, you'd be so much better off, than if the whole world knew we just weren't meant for each other after all. I wasn't going to come back at all, but we both know I've always only wanted you to be happy, and you can't do that while you're wracked by stupid guilt that probably sprouts from your hero-complex. But I trust that, even after I leave, you'll keep my existence a secret. I'll come back one day, Harry. I promise I will, when the time is right. But that time isn't now."

Harry cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, only partially understanding where she was coming from.

Ginny went on, "This isn't fair, Harry. Not for either of us. We deserve to find real love somewhere."

Remembering Dean, Harry asked, "Have you found yours?"

Ginny smiled slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I have."

Harry considered this, and nodded. "So have I. It's just rather unfortunate that he doesn't feel the same."

Ginny gave him a sad little look. "You'll find a way through, Harry. You always do." She stood up and gently pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Goodbye, Harry."

And then she was gone.

"Goodbye, Ginny," Harry whispered to an empty room.

Harry barely registered the hours that passed as he lay on his bed, his entire brain whirling, a mess of confusion and shock. It finally hit him that Ginny was fine - he had lost Draco over nothing. He would probably never get him back again, never be able to hold that fragile body in his arms again, never be able to kiss him good morning, never be able to see him smile...and for what? All for nothing.

Ginny was alive, but for some reason, he felt even emptier than before.

Harry didn't even realize what was happening until he felt a warm wetness staining his cheeks. Startled, he raised his fingers to his face, feeling the thin stream of water running down his face. Then the realization struck him.

_I'm crying._

There was no doubting it now – tears were falling, thick and fast, down his cheeks, pooling where he held his face in his hands.

"I'm crying," Harry whispered, almost in the same wonderment as a child seeing snow for the first time. It was like release, sadness and happiness all at once, and things were, once again, clicking into place for Harry.

_It's Draco. It's Draco. It's always been Draco._

Harry supposed that, in a way, there had never really been anyone else. It was always Draco – had always been Draco and would always be Draco. The need to one-up him on everything, the years of tense eye contact that Harry had always interpreted as them expressing their longing to break each other's noses (not the want to fuck each other into the floor, as he realized it was now), the stalking in sixth year, the general curiousity that always overtook Harry at a mention of the Malfoys. It was all suddenly clear to Harry, and for the second time that day, everything fell into place.

Harry stood up, face grim and determined. Ginny was right – he always found a way through – and it didn't matter how, he was going to find his way again with Draco, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *


	17. Reconciliation

All of a sudden, Harry was everywhere again. Draco frequently saw him cruising the city, looking out for any signs of Draco's existence. He was knocking on Draco's door, he was frequenting the diner and questioning Eugenia about her boss (luckily, she was loyal and maintained that she was not allowed to disclose any information about him unless Harry could provide her with a legitimate reason).

" _Can I please speak to your boss?"_

" _Sorry, sir, I'm afraid I don't know who you mean."_

" _His name is Draco. Draco Malfoy?"_

" _May I ask why you require his time?"_

" _I'm an old friend, I just need to talk to him."_

" _I apologize, sir, but I am not allowed to tell you anything unless it is an absolute emergency."_

" _But this is_ _incredibly important!"_

" _In all due respect, sir, I'd very much like to keep my job. Would you like to order something?"_

Although Eugenia was patient and willing to help Draco where she could, he could sense her composure wearing thin. She wouldn't provide alibis for him forever, especially since Draco had a feeling that Harry's Gryffindor persistence wasn't going to wear out this time around.

It was on a fine day that Draco decided he had had enough of Harry sodding Potter. He was listening from the kitchen as Harry entered and spoke to his cashier once more.

"Why won't you tell me how I can contact him?" Harry's voice was demanding, lightly raised in frustration, and Draco could almost imagine green eyes flashing as he spoke. At the vision, Draco nearly slid to the floor in a melted puddle, but managed to keep himself relatively composed enough to hear Eugenia's convincingly nonchalant response.

"I'm sorry, sir, but as I've said before, unless you have a genuine reason –"

"Look, I know you're trying to be loyal and all that, but this is extremely important –"

"Sir, I'm afraid that you have yet to provide me with an actual reason, so I cannot –"

"I really have to do this, and I don't really expect you to understand, but this is important to me and possibly quite vital to the rest of my life –"

"Unless you would like to order something, I'll have to ask you to leave the restaurant."

"Please, please, just listen to me –"

"I'm sorry, sir, but as I keep saying, if you don't –"

"I love him!"

Draco's breath hitched, and this time he really did slide to the floor in shock. His heartbeat sped up and his mind whirled in a confused mess. He loved him. _Harry Potter loves me._ Draco's laugh was barked-out and hysterical, and he had to shove a fist into his mouth to stop himself from being heard.

Even through his state, Draco could hear the moment's hesitation in Eugenia's voice, her unconcerned professional façade slipping just a little.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"I love him, alright? And if that's not enough reason, I don't know what is."

If Draco wasn't so messed up, he would have felt impressed by his assistant's indifferent response: "That's very nice, sir, but if you have nothing else, I really must get back to work. This diner doesn't run itself."

Draco heard Harry's sharp laugh. "God, you even sound like him."

"Excuse me?" Despite herself, Eugenia sounded mildly offended and a trifle surprised.

"Nothing. It's just something I think he'd say. Anyway, again, if you meet him anytime soon, do tell him I dropped in, yeah? I'll leave you to get back to your work." There was the sound of the front door's bell, signalling the opening and closing of the portal, and then silence.

By the time Eugenia got to him, Draco was a complete sobbing mess on the floor, letting out choked little sounds as a couple of tears streamed down his face. Sighing, his assistant propped him up into a sitting position, supporting him until he quieted down, and respectfully keeping all comments related to drama queens and crybabies to herself.

When Draco found his voice again, the first thing he said was, "I'm going to have to take some time off."

Eugenia nodded, but Draco could see her gaze turning judgemental, even as she attempted to look understanding. "How long?" she asked.

"I dunno, a week, a month, couple years..." Draco waved a hand airily. "Doesn't matter."

Eugenia stared at him with a somewhat exasperated look, but didn't open her mouth.

Draco sighed. "Go on," he groaned. "Say it. But be gentle."

"You're an idiot," Eugenia blurted out. "A prick, a coward, immature, and, most decidedly, a complete and utter idiot."

Draco winced. "Thanks for being gentle."

"You can't hide from him forever, Draco," she retorted. "Lord knows you feel the same way."

"Lord doesn't know _anything_ ," Draco snapped. "I'm going to take leave starting tomorrow. If you need anything, I'll be in that motel I told you about."

Eugenia sighed, but knew better than to argue with her boss. "I'll keep everything in order while you're gone."

Draco smiled gratefully. "Thank you. In fact, I'm going to go home now and pack some stuff for my little vacation."

Eugenia didn't say anything against him, but Draco knew she wasn't happy with this new arrangement. He didn't blame her – she knew how much Draco loved his job. Taking a vacation would most likely make him more miserable than never taking one again, and she also knew that Draco was being stupid. Plus, now that she was eighteen (in other words, legal) and the only one who Draco trusted with the Diner, she would have to run the whole damn store by herself, and Draco knew how much she hated stress.

Sighing, Draco walked up to her and gave her a small kiss on her forehead, a peace offering. She shoved him away, predictably, but the slight smile on her face told Draco that he was forgiven – at least for now.

"Get the fuck out of here before I come to my senses and murder you," she said, somewhat gruffly, and Draco flashed her a grin and sunk into a low, mock-bow worthy of Kreacher, and left the Diner. The door closed behind him.

* * *

When Harry stepped into the diner the next day, things felt different, somehow. That pretty brunette was still standing behind the counter, tapping something onto a calculator, and there were still an average number of patrons and the odd waiter or waitress taking orders and clearing dishes, and there was that distinct clink of plates from the kitchen. But something was different, and Harry just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Excuse me, miss, I'm looking for..." he began, but the lady behind the counter huffed impatiently, cutting him off.

"I know what you're here for, and for once, I have the satisfaction of telling you that he has gone away. Indefinitely," she added, only sparing him a second's glance before resuming whatever work she was doing.

Harry felt himself grow cold. "Away? Where?"

She snorted. "Now, sir, do we really have to go through this again? I can't tell you unless you have an actual excuse for wanting to see him so badly."

Harry took an involuntary step back at the glare she shot him that reminded him a little of Hermione's signature _look_. "You seem testy today. What happened to customer service?"

The girl sighed, putting everything down and looking at him properly. Harry noticed that she was young, probably no older than twenty, but had a glint in her brown eyes that made her look a lot older than that. "I apologize, sir, but it just isn't easy running this place by myself. Besides, you've been pretty much an insufferable hero the past few days, haven't you, with all the declarations of love and stuff like that?"

Harry laughed, struck once more by the resemblance these words had to Draco's. "You really do sound like him sometimes."

"Excuse me, sir, but I take such comments very much to heart."

"Sorry, but it's true."

The girl chuckled, then suddenly grew a little sad. "How did you come to know the boss?"

Harry shrugged. "We were acquaintances from high school."

"He doesn't talk about his education much," she admitted.

Grinning, Harry smirked, "I can only imagine. Well, thanks for your time, again. I probably won't come back anymore. I'm sure you're relieved." Harry turned and slowly started to leave, casting one last glance at the interior of the diner. There was lots of green, as Harry had imagined, but also an abundance of soft browns and earth tones. In an almost strange way, it suited Draco perfectly. He felt a small sadness sweeping over him as he realized that this was the last link he had to Draco. Perhaps it wasn't really meant to be after all, perhaps it was all just wrong timing, perhaps...

"Wait."

Harry turned around as the girl behind the counter called to him, his heart beating wildly as she gave him a long, considering look. "Yes?" he asked, voice barely a whisper, too afraid to hope.

The look she shot him was a warning in itself – Harry had no doubt that she would gut him if she was given enough excuse. Suddenly intimidated, Harry swallowed nervously, but held his ground.

Finally, she spoke. "He's high maintenance," she said. "He sometimes makes a big deal out of nothing at all, and he tends to cry for no visible reason, and when you demand said reason, he rarely ever gives it in a straightforward manner. He's terribly self-centred and unpredictable, and has the worst mood swings in the world. Sometimes, he'll get mad at you for no apparent reason at all, and you'll be left to figure out why. He's immature and insecure, and if you don't constantly remind him how you feel about him, he'll forget. If you make him a promise, you had better keep it if you want to be kept, and he's very particular about being neat and orderly, so if you're the messy type, be prepared for a lot of flack. You'd better be prepared for arguments, too, because he can really pick a fight, and he doesn't give up, even when he knows he's wrong. He's hard to get through to, and sometimes he won't open up to you unless you prise him open, slowly, with tender loving care. I'm pretty sure he's worth the effort, but as far as I know, nobody's ever had enough patience to try. Are you sure this is want you want?"

Harry almost felt like crying from relief and joy. Merlin, he wanted it all so badly he could hardly articulate it into words. He wanted to wax poetic about everything he wanted, but he knew that would probably not end too well, so he settled for a simple, "Yes."

The girl eyed him carefully before nodding slowly, as if saying, _Yes, I believe you do._ Then, she said, simply, "The Milan Inn."

Harry swore that in that moment his heart could have burst from being too filled with emotions. "Thank you," he whispered. The girl nodded, giving him a short smile before turning back to the documents spread out on the counter top.

Without a moment's hesitation, Harry turned and bolted out of the door. There was no way he was letting the idiot slip from his grasp, not now, no way.

* * *

Draco stared blankly at the wall in the far corner of his dismal, dreary little motel room. It was damp and musty and stank of unwashed carpet, and, even worse, it was so glaringly empty – almost as empty as his heart, which had felt so full before, when he was stuck in the wrong time with the Golden Boy. The coldness of the room didn't help, either. It seemed to radiate memories, and everything Draco looked at reminded him at least minutely of Harry. For starters, there was the obvious, red single bed, that, although small, should clearly contain a certain raven-haired Gryffindor, and...

Draco's thoughts were rudely interrupted by a series of sharp knocks on the door. He froze in his seat – the pattern of those knocks were familiar, an irregular sort of rapping that he had been hearing for the past few weeks. But no, that was irrational – why would _Harry_ be knocking on his door? He let out some more hysterical laughter – it was happening more often these days, and Draco was sure that pretty soon, he would have to be carted off to a mental facility.

But then came the voice. "Draco, I know you're in there, open up!"

Draco cursed silently, biting his lip to keep from screaming, and willing Harry to go away. It worked – after a half minute the knocking ceased – but then...

There was a muffled shout, and the door burst open, nearly flying off of its hinges as Harry cast a too-strong spell on it.

"Potter!" Draco yelped, leaping up. "What –"

"I had to see you," Harry said, easily shutting the door behind him, "But you wouldn't be seen. I searched everywhere for you, and I couldn't find you, until..." He gestured hopelessly.

"If this is another one of your attempts at making things right, Potter, I suggest you leave now," Draco said coldly, turning half-away so he wouldn't have to meet that penetrating gaze.

"This _is_ about making it right, Draco, but it's also about so much more than that."

"Oh, here we go. Merlin knows you never got over your Gryffindor tendencies."

"What can I say?" Harry grinned, a little awkwardly. "We've all been sorted pretty accurately."

Draco snorted. "At least I don't dwell by those stereotypes anymore."

Harry gaped. "Are you kidding me?"

Draco ignored his interjection. "You're still an insufferable prick, and I can't quite figure out why you _insist_ on being _such_ a Gryffindor –"

"Look who's talking!" Harry interrupted, sounding a little angry now. "As if you aren't still every bit a Slytherin. You've got your house loyalty written all over everything!"

Draco stopped in the middle of his rant, spinning to look at him, now feeling a little confusion seeping into his panic and frustration. "What?"

"Well, for starters, you're still bloody mysterious, and I can never quite figure you out – never have been able to, in fact. And don't think you aren't still a sneaky, manipulative bastard who always has to get his way – you definitely are just as much of a prick as you were back then. And the colours, oh Merlin, how do I even start? Your appliances are all green, your house in draped in green, your diner is adorned in green..." Harry ticked the points off of his fingers. "Heck, you're even wearing green now. And that's just the _physical_ Slytherin representation."

"It's my favourite colour!" Draco snapped.

"Yes, because it's a _Slytherin_ one."

Draco glared at him, now feeling rage entering and mixing with his other emotions. "It has _nothing_ to do with being a damned Slytherin!" he yelled.

"Then, pray tell, what does it have to do with?" Harry yelled right back.

"It's your eyes, damn it!" Draco shouted. "Your eyes are green!"

A silence descended on them, and Harry was staring at Draco with something like shock and bewilderment on his face. It wasn't until then that Draco realized what he had said.

_Fuck._

Wearily, Draco turned away from him, shoulders shaking. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I don't want to," Harry replied softly, and Draco heard him come up to stand directly behind him.

"Then what do you want?" Draco demanded, but his voice came out quiet and not quite as threatening as he meant it to be.

"You," Harry whispered quietly.

Draco snorted, turning to face him. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

Harry gave him a half-bemused glare, but pressed on insistently. "Fine," he snapped. "Fine. You know what I want, Draco?" He took a deep breath, and Draco shuddered – there was something breathtaking about the way Harry said his name. "I want everything. All your flaws, all your mistakes, all your tears, all your smiles, all your stupid sarcasm, all your bad jokes. I want the part of you that you refuse to give. I want all of you, everything. That's what I want."

Draco knew he shouldn't give in so easily, but suddenly, his heart was full again.

Harry reached out, gently touching Draco's face with his fingers. "I want to see you when I wake up in the morning, lying right next to me." He ran his thumb over Draco's lips. "I want to kiss you, all the time, just because I can." He traced a pattern over Draco's eyelids, causing them to flutter shut as Harry pressed a kiss to both of them. "I want to see that flash in your eyes when you're sad, when you're angry, when you're happy, when you want me." He moved his hands till they were ghosting lightly over Draco's back. "I want to comfort you when you're sad." His hand ran down his arm until it grasped Draco's hand lightly. "I want to be able to hold your hand in public, show you off to the world, let them know that you're mine." He slipped his hand back over Draco's stomach, then over his chest, until it came to rest over his heart. "And most of all, I want you, and everything you are."

A million retorts about Hufflepuffs were floating in Draco's head, but he could get none of them out, so instead, he settled for grabbing Harry behind his neck and pulling him in until their lips collided in a wonderful flurry of sparks.

Draco felt his fallen pieces rise from the ground and reassemble themselves again, just only realizing how much he had missed this.

"Draco," Harry gasped, sounding wonderfully breathless.

"Shut up," Draco growled, pressing their mouths together again, this time more passionately than before, if that was even possible. Harry's arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him in closer, and Draco felt whole again. "I hate you," he whispered.

Harry laughed shortly. "I hate you more."

"I hate you the most."

Harry grinned, pushing him into a wall. "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

Draco crushed his lips against Harry's again, this time vowing to never stop. He wanted this, needed this so badly, wanting to be closer to Harry, longing to feel every inch of him, _desperate_ to lose himself, to drown in him…

Draco shoved Harry down onto the awful, red-draped bed that suddenly didn't seem so empty anymore, still kissing him, reluctant to part with him for even a second, afraid that if he did, Harry would disappear again. Somehow, Harry seemed to sense that, and gently whispered, "I'm here," into Draco's mouth. Draco responded by twining their tongues together, moaning at the sensation, and Harry inhaled sharply.

Eventually, the need for air became overpowering, and they broke apart, but Draco was instantly running his hands under Harry's shirt, feeling the muscles of his chest and stomach ripple under his fingers as Harry moved, arching into Draco's touch. Harry groaned as Draco dragged his nails over his flesh, and reached over to claim Draco's lips again.

They undressed each other in a frenzy, fumbling with layers of clothing and ripping off buttons when the process got too frustratingly tedious. Draco's green shirt was probably missing several fastenings and he was pretty sure that Harry's sweatshirt had been torn nearly to shreds, but he suddenly found that he didn't care.

"I want you to make love to me," Harry whispered suddenly.

Draco froze, not sure how to handle that sort of information. He gulped, trying to hide his nervousness by saying sharply, "Must you make it sound so old-fashioned and corny?"

Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth, and Draco followed the motion with his eyes, feeling a sudden urge to be the one biting that lip. "Saying 'fuck me' sounds just a little too crude, given the situation," Harry said.

"Sentimental prat," Draco sighed, but that was all he managed to say before Harry bucked his hips upwards, and both men groaned at the touch of bare flesh, instantly starting to move to seek more friction. Harry reached between them, gripping both of their erections in his hand and jerking them off. Draco moaned, his head falling forwards onto Harry's shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, after a few moments of this incredible ecstasy.

Harry nodded. "Please," he whispered, almost as if he was begging, and Draco nearly came right then and there, and had to grip the base of his cock to stop himself. "Please, Draco."

And Draco complied. Slowly, he kissed a path down Harry chest, twining the fingers of his hands with Harry's.

"Have you got any lube?" Harry questioned, almost as suddenly as before.

"Yes, I'm sure there's plenty of that in a horrible cheap motel room," Draco chided sarcastically, rubbing circles over the back of Harry's hands with his thumbs, and sliding down until he was staring at Harry's gorgeous arse.

"The chances of that are higher than you...oh!" Harry cried out as Draco lapped tentatively at Harry's entrance, sending a rush of pleasure soaring through him. The concept of this whole thing seemed wrong to Harry, but how could it be bad when it felt so damn good? "Draco," Harry breathed, obviously trying very hard not to rock himself into Draco's tongue, which caused Draco to roll his eyes at the typical Gryffindor display, but also urged him to quit stalling and just fuck Harry with his tongue. Harry gasped, finally giving in and moving with Draco, delicious sounds falling from his lips and setting Draco's soul on fire. Then Draco felt something along the back of Harry's left hand and stopped his movements.

Harry whimpered at the loss, but soon noticed that Draco had slid upwards and was examining the back of Harry's hand, searching for something. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, watching avidly as Draco ran his fingers over a faint outline in the back of Harry's hand.

_I must not tell lies._

"What…" Draco was speechless. He recognized this form of Dark magic, it was an illegal, old-school form of punishment, one that he had only seen used once in his entire life… "Umbridge," Draco hissed, anger suddenly enveloping him at the realization that Harry had been subjected to her cruel ways. "I'll kill her…"

"As touching as that is, I'd rather you didn't go to Azkaban for that, so you could stay here and fuck me properly," Harry said, and Draco looked up into his face and couldn't help but groan at the sight of the brunet's bright, arousal-filled eyes. He suddenly felt the urge to pounce on Harry, but smirked instead at the obvious impatience etched in Harry's expression.

"This might be a bit uncomfortable," Draco said quietly, giving in to Harry's silent plea. He positioned his finger at Harry's slick entrance, and with a single movement, gently breached it. Harry stiffened momentarily, and Draco decided to distract him by taking him into his mouth, using his tongue as best as he could. After a few moments, Draco finally felt Harry relax, and allowed him to get used to the sensation. When he was sure Harry was alright, he slowly added another finger, scissoring him lightly, and winced at Harry's gasp of slight pain. Draco was starting to worry that he wasn't doing this right when Harry let out a low moan, hips jerking upwards suddenly. Draco smirked, knowing he had found his mark, and aimed for that area again. Harry groaned, breath coming out in pants, a light sheen of sweat beginning to form on his head.

"Draco…please…"

"What do you want, Harry?" Draco whispered huskily, leaning down so his breath ghosted over Harry's lips. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you in me, please, please…" Harry's voice sounded so broken suddenly, and Draco was only too happy to oblige. He removed his fingers, positioning his cock at the tight ring of muscle, and gently breached it as slowly and gently as possible. Harry gasped out in pain, and Draco soothed him by peppering kisses over his face, kissing away his fears as best as he could. It wasn't easy, though, because Harry was _so fucking tight_ and Merlin, Draco needed this so badly.

"Shh, relax," Draco urged, pushing himself in as slowly as possible. It took a few moments, but he finally felt Harry's muscles unclench, and started to move, very carefully. Harry reached out, seeking Draco's lips, and Draco kissed him. This was new for him, again – in every one of his affairs, he had simply fucked his partners, never quite caring what happened to them, but this was different, this was Harry, and Draco wanted him to feel good.

On the bright side, Draco's many conquests meant that he was slightly more skilled, and he found Harry's prostate again without too much difficulty, and an odd sense of satisfaction flooded through him when Harry cried out wantonly, looking utterly debauched as he met Draco thrust for thrust. "Draco, Draco, Draco…" Harry chanted his name like a mantra, and each time he spoke it, a small spark went off somewhere in Draco's body, and Draco sped up. Harry mewled, writing in pleasure, and Draco groaned, his rhythm increasing and then intensifying to a fast, earnest, desperate sort of dance. The bed creaked loudly, hitting the wall at their pace, but Draco didn't care – the bed could have broken and crashed beneath them and he wouldn't have noticed, not when Harry was moaning and jerking and looking like that. Before he knew it, Harry was screaming his name, arching and clenching around him. The sensation was too much for Draco, and he, too, was pulled over the edge, crying out in ecstasy.

Draco rolled off of Harry, feeling a slight pang of sympathy when Harry winced as Draco pulled out of him. As Draco remembered, his own first time had been pretty painful too, once he had gotten down from his high. Draco kissed Harry sweetly by way of apology.

"You know, I never would have put you down as the type who got all romantic and sappy after orgasm," Harry noted, smiling as Draco curled up against him.

"Shut up," Draco murmured, biting on Harry's jaw as reprimand.

Harry watched Draco fondly for a few minutes, running his hand up and down his back. There was a thoughtful, almost wistful look on his face. "I missed you," he said after a moment.

Draco smirked. "Of course you did; I'm irresistible."

Harry sighed. "Trust you to ruin the moment."

Draco huddled closer to Harry. "I missed you too," he whispered, after a few minutes. When Harry didn't reply, he looked up, and saw Harry smiling hugely at him, looking perfectly happy. Draco groaned, hiding the warm feeling bubbling within him by burying his face back into Harry's chest. "Trust you to be such a…"

"Gryffindor, I know," Harry finished his sentence for him. "Get used to it."

Draco smiled. "I think I will."


	18. Epilogue

"You're dead, Potter," Draco called, and although Harry was fast – being a Seeker had required as much – Draco was faster. Harry didn't get much farther than the door when Draco caught him and spun him around, gripping him tightly by the arms to stop him from escaping.

"Funny, you'd think I'd have stopped walking around..." Harry grinned, staring up into the flushed face hovering above his, mere inches away from his own. When Draco's stormy grey eyes continued to bore into his, looking only mildly amused, he added, "Besides, I was only telling the truth – the colour _did_ make you look like a pumpkin. You should just stick to green."

Draco growled. "Oh, you're _so_ going to get it now," he said, smirking, and Harry laughed as Draco pushed him into the wall.

"I certainly hope so," Harry chuckled.

Draco couldn't help but smile, and Harry's heart stuttered at the sight of it, beating even faster than it had just now. Leaning in, Draco pressed a tender kiss to his lips, nearly melting Harry with the sweetness of it.

They took their time now, no longer fuelled by anger or desperation, just a deep-seated passion, and they leisurely removed clothes, walking over to the bed, spending a long time just kissing and breathing and _living_. Each movement felt like heaven and brought them closer together, and as Harry filled Draco, he realized that he had never felt so complete in his entire life, and as both men reached their peeks, bodies intertwined, Harry knew that he wouldn't trade this for the world.

There were issues they had yet to address, and Harry knew that. At some point or other, Harry would have to bring Draco to meet Ron and Hermione, and although he was sure they would act like adults, that wouldn't be particularly pleasant. And sooner or later, Harry would have to tell Draco about Ginny, and it was painfully clear that Draco wouldn't take that news too well, seeing as Harry had been forced to keep it from him for so long. And Draco had talked about bringing Harry to meet his mother, and although he was flattered and happy that Draco was serious about their being together, he knew it wouldn't be easy to gain Narcissa Malfoy's acceptance. They'd also have to show themselves to the Wizarding World. They couldn't hide forever, they'd have to venture into Diagon Alley once in a while, and Harry knew their being together would cause quite a stir and would probably be difficult for both of them to handle.

And then there was the issue of love. Neither had brought it up yet, and Harry was pretty sure he'd have to, because he was the brave Gryffindor (as Draco kept reminding him), after all. Although it had only been a couple months, Harry was pretty sure he was head over heels for this man, even more sure now than he had been when he told that lady at the Diner so.

It wouldn't always be easy for them, Harry knew. There would be fights and screaming and lots of cursing. There would be kicking and shouting and hexes thrown around. And no matter how hard they tried, they'd have bad times along with their good times, and sometimes they'd want to quit and get out. But Harry knew they'd be fine, because he had no intention of letting Draco go, ever. And Harry trusted that Draco wouldn't allow Harry to walk away without a fight, either.

Yes, there would come a point where they'd have to deal with the harshness of reality, but that point wasn't now. Besides, Harry thought, as Draco nuzzled against him sleepily, he wasn't worried. There would be plenty of opportunities to handle these issues, and they'd be okay. Smiling, content, Harry wrapped his arms a little tighter around Draco, breathing him in as he drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

For once, time was on their side.

_Finite_


End file.
